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Title: Half a Sovereign. An Improbable Romance.
Author: Hay, Ian [Beith, John Hay] (1876-1952)
Date of first publication: August 1926
Edition used as base for this ebook:
London: Hodder and Stoughton, August 1926
[third printing]
Date first posted: 17 October 2013
Date last updated: 17 October 2013
Project Gutenberg Canada ebook #1119

This ebook was produced by:
Marcia Brooks, Paul Ereaut, Mark Akrigg
& the Online Distributed Proofreading Canada Team
at http://www.pgdpcanada.net

In Pursuit of Tranquillity

I took a dislike to Jimmy Rumborough as soon as I saw his car. I suppose
I take dislikes rather readily, but this time I think I had some excuse.

The car was standing beside the arrival platform in St. Pancras Station,
and my smoking-compartment drew up exactly opposite. It was an
outrageous-looking vehicle, in size and shape rather resembling a
horizontal thermos flask on wheels, painted vermilion, except for a
resplendent nickel bonnet, and wearing some of its internal organs
outside, after the indelicate fashion of Prometheus. (For instance,
there were four enormous asbestos-covered exhaust pipes, parallel to one
another, running down the side of the bonnet and merging into one single
exhaust pipe about the thickness of a fire-hose, which led away aft,
discharging mephitic vapours.) Body, in the ordinary sense, the car had
none; but there was a sort of cock-pit sunk into the upper circumference
of the flask, in which Jimmy Rumborough was sitting,[Pg 2] grasping a
steering-wheel about the size of a circus hoop, and smoking a cigarette.
Protruding from a species of horizontal port-hole further astern, I
observed the head of what I took to be a small boy, wearing motor
goggles, and smoking another cigarette.

At Brooklands the car, for those who like that sort of thing, would have
been well enough; but as a domestic conveyance it struck me as vulgar
without being funny. This impression was confirmed when Master
Rumborough—either from sheer joie de vivre or, more probably, to mark
the contempt of petrol for mere steam—greeted the arrival of the train
by emitting a machine-gun-like series of explosions from his exhaust.

Since noises—especially unnecessary noises—and personal advertisement
of one's own presence are the two things which I happen to loathe most
in all the world, I promptly conceived a murderous hatred for this
froward youth and his detestable conveyance. (Besides, the old place in
my head was aching furiously that day.) Unfortunately, though I am
surpassed by few as a deviser of horrible punishments, I am singularly
useless at carrying these out; so I merely put my fingers in my ears,
condemned Jimmy Rumborough to perpetual[Pg 3] boiling motor-oil, and scanned
the carriage-way for the sober limousine which I was expecting—such a
vehicle as would beseem the establishment of a family lawyer of high and
solemn standing. Little did I dream that the roaring horror before me
was the vehicle in question.

It was Jimmy Rumborough himself who broke the news. That is to say, he
eased up his engine, and yelled across the platform, without removing
his cigarette from his mouth:

'I say, aren't you Leslie Miles?'

Stifling an insane impulse to deny my own identity, I assumed as
unselfconscious an appearance as I could, and approached the thermos
flask.

'Yes,' I said. 'Are you from Lady Rumborough? She said in her letter
that she would send——'

I indicated my Scottish soldier-servant and indispensable factotum, one
Rorison, who had deftly collected my belongings, and was now standing
by, with his usual air of detached indifference to the English race,
awaiting further orders.

'Tell him to snaffle a taxi,' commanded the[Pg 4] blue-eyed one. 'You creep
into the buzz-waggon.'

Construing this as an invitation to take my seat in the thermos flask, I
painfully scaled its slippery heights and inserted myself into the
cock-pit beside Master Jimmy.

'Hold tight, old scream!' he shouted over his shoulder, apparently
addressing my fellow-passenger, and drew a resounding screech from that
invention of the devil, the Klaxon horn. Next moment, with a jerk which
nearly severed my spinal column, and another deafening arpeggio from the
exhaust, we were under way—cleaving a passage into the Euston Road
amidst the justifiable curses of all men, and heading at demoniac speed
in the direction of Regent's Park.

All the reader knows about me so far is that my name is Leslie Miles,
and that I do not like noises or publicity. The latter characteristic
has been mine from birth, thirty-four years ago: I have been shy of my
fellow-creatures ever since the days when I was of an age to be forced
into a clean white frock and passed round at a tea-party of young
matrons. The former is of more recent acquisition, and dates from a
sudden and unexpected participation on my part in a[Pg 5] mine explosion
somewhere in the neighbourhood of Messines Ridge in early 1917. When I
came down again I was removed to a base hospital, where I lay for weeks,
and thence to a convalescent hospital in Surrey, where I stayed perforce
until the end of the war. When peace and demobilisation came, I betook
myself to distant lands, in search of a commodity still far to seek in
those days—tranquillity—slowly coaxing a shaken body and a troubled
spirit back to normality.

I stayed abroad for nearly five years. There was no occasion to hurry
home. I have no parents or near relatives. My little manor in
Leicestershire is a pleasant enough spot, or would be if I had any one
with whom to share it. If things had worked out differently during my
Christmas leave in '16—— But that is neither here nor there. My
present task is to explain how I came to be travelling in Jimmy
Rumborough's nightmare tumbril to Mulberry Lodge, Regent's Park, upon an
early autumn evening in the present year of grace.

My lawyers, and my father's before me, are the firm of Rumborough,
Rumborough, and Rumborough, of Lincoln's Inn Fields. The head of the
firm is Sir James Rumborough, Jimmy's father, and I was visiting London
that[Pg 6] evening in answer to a pressing—one might almost have called it a
fussy—letter from him regarding the business of the estate, which
apparently I had been neglecting most grossly since coming into my
inheritance. The letter was accompanied by a peremptory—one might
almost have called it a hectoring—invitation from Lady Rumborough to
make Mulberry Lodge my home while in town. This I had accepted. As an
alternative to the smoking-room of my club, where the members are all,
to the outward eye and ear, either dead or delirious, I had come to the
conclusion that even a stodgy British household in Regent's Park would
be preferable. At least one would have quiet.

I confess I had overlooked Jimmy—or rather the fact that Jimmys grow
up. More than ten years ago I had dined at Mulberry Lodge with my
father, and still carried, in the part of one's brain where one stores
distasteful recollections, the memory of a bumptious and unkempt youth
of thirteen or so, who came into dessert, cracked nuts with his teeth,
and interrupted the conversation. Well, here he was again, burning up
the Marylebone Road for my benefit, and exchanging simple and primitive
repartees with 'bus-conductors and newsvendors. Who the[Pg 7] young gentleman
protruding from the manhole behind me might be I had no idea; but I
found myself fearing that Sir James had had an addition to his family.

We roared on. The Euston Road, with its singularly appropriate fringe of
monumental-masonry establishments, was far astern. By some undeserved
miracle we had escaped arrest for practically driving over a policeman
at the Hampstead Road crossing: we had ploughed our way ruthlessly
through a seething and protesting stream of homeward-bound citizens
outside Great Portland Street Underground Station, and were now in
Regent's Park itself, tearing round the outer circle, to a Klaxon horn
obbligato calculated to discourage the very hyenas in the adjacent
Zoo.

Suddenly a shrill voice shrieked into Jimmy's left ear, and my right:

'Steady on, Jimmy! Those are blind men! St. Dunstan's Hospital!'

Evidently and unexpectedly, our young friend behind cherished certain
elementary instincts of humanity. Moreover, he appeared to exert some
sort of occult influence over our lunatic charioteer, for James not only
gave the road to the three sturdy, blinded war-veterans crossing in the
lamp-light, but for the rest of the journey[Pg 8] travelled at a pace
slightly less offensive to common decency.

Half an hour later I sat taking tea in Lady Rumborough's drawing-room,
with my heart in my boots. My dream of tranquillity was shattered to the
four winds: the house was full of people, and more were coming.

Beside me upon the sofa sat my hostess—tall and deaf, with that not
uncommon accompaniment of deafness, a voice to wake the dead. Opposite
to us, upon the other side of the fireplace, sat a large, flabby, and
extremely verbose person, with three chins and grey side-whiskers, under
whose discourse flinched a sandy-haired, middle-aged man who could have
done very well with one of the orator's chins.

'Very interesting!' the fat man was saying: 'most illuminating! And you
actually participate in these exercises yourself?'

'Yes,' replied the chinless one. 'Of course, there is a graduated
series, aiming at the combination of hygiene and—er—physical grace. In
our little society——'

'Ah!' remarked the fat man, who apparently was not so good a listener as
talker; 'I wonder if my constituents would be interested——' He fell
into an obvious electioneering muse.

One of my troubles in life is that whenever I ought to be talking to
some one I always find myself listening to some one else. I was just
becoming faintly interested in the conversation opposite, when—-

'We are expecting quite a number of old friends here this evening,'
boomed Lady Rumborough in my ear. 'Some are going to sleep here; the
rest will only dine, thank goodness! Do you play bridge?'

'A very little,' I replied evasively. As a matter of fact, I am a keen
player; but mixed bridge of the dinner-party variety, with its mangled
opportunities and subsequent recriminations, causes me acute agony.

'That's all right,' said Lady Rumborough. 'I play a great deal. I'll
take you as a partner, and teach you all the new conventions—from
America, and those places, you know. But they're really coming to-night
to talk about the yachting trip.'

'The yachting trip?'

'Yes. James has always had a fancy for the sea, and this year he has got
his wish. We're off in less than a fortnight. It's a big boat—thirty
thousand tons—or else three thousand. Anyway, it weighs thousands of
something: James will tell you.'

'Yes—Gwen. You needn't be mysterious with us, you know,' pursued Lady
Rumborough in a steady roar: 'we know all about it. She'll be at dinner
to-night. You've been very slow over her, haven't you? Now come and meet
Mrs. Dunham-Massey. You needn't worry about the Dunham, though.'

Mrs. Dunham-Massey proved to be the very antithesis of Lady Rumborough.
Her voice was low, gentle, and sweet, and she made room for me beside
her with a helpful smile.

'I know how awful it is for a man's man like you,' she said, 'to be led
about on a chain at a strange tea-party. Come and sit here, and I'll
keep the crowd away. First of all, though, I must warn you that I have a
peculiarity: I simply have to speak the truth about things—and
people! If I don't like them, or trust them—well, I can't pretend that
I do. It's the way I'm built. Of course, it requires courage at times;
but to speak the truth is the only thing in life, isn't it?'

With this unexceptionable exordium, Mrs. Dunham-Massey proceeded
forthwith to exercise her hobby.

'That is Mr. Jubberley,' she said, pointing to the man with the three
chins. 'He is a Member of Parliament—a great worker in the cause of a
better understanding between the nations. He is always asking
Czecho-Slovakians to lunch—but he stands too close to you when he
talks. The sandy man beside him is Mr. Podmore. He is rather a dear; so
utterly insignificant, yet so enthusiastic over the mild little things
that thrill him for the moment—morris-dancing, and folk-songs, and all
those odd amusements that they have in Garden Suburbs.' Her gentle gaze
continued to travel round the room. 'There is our host, just coming in:
he's a distant cousin[Pg 12] of mine. He's a terribly kind little person, but
finicky beyond all words. When you go up to your bedroom you'll find the
place simply littered with time-tables and notices—about the hours of
meals, and the time to post letters, and remembering to turn off the
electric light, and not to tip the servants or leave things behind you
when you go away, and all that kind of tiresomeness. He writes them all
himself.' Her eye roved on, and fell upon Lady Rumborough. 'I love his
wife: she's one of my oldest and dearest. She has no manners, and cheats
at bridge; but after all, it's in spite of their failings that one loves
one's friends, doesn't one? Now, never mind the others: tell me about
yourself.' I found a wistful but business-like gaze turned upon me.
'It's so interesting, forming new friendships, don't you think? I may
say that all I know about you so far is that you were blown up in the
war, and got the O.B.E. That is correct, isn't it?'

'It's near enough,' I said. My decoration is not the O.B.E., but it
seemed presumptuous to argue with this fountain of knowledge.

'I want to ask you about Gwen Gowlland,' continued Mrs. Massey
purringly. 'I always think it's so unsatisfactory not to know the[Pg 13] exact
facts about people's really deep attachments, don't you? It leads to so
much awkwardness and misunderstanding. Now, I should like you and me—I
mean I: my grammar's awful—to be perfectly frank about everything. Are
we to congratulate you?'

'No,' I said.

'You say that in a curiously constrained sort of way. Surely there's
no—trouble—between you and Gwen?' She spoke hopefully.

'Not that I know of,' I replied, writhing.

'I had an idea,' she rippled on, 'that it was actually announced in
Simla, last cold weather; but of course I may be wrong.'

'There was nothing to announce,' I snapped. Mrs. Massey held up a
gentle, reproachful finger, and smiled deprecatingly.

'I see you are shocked at my frankness,' she said: 'some people are. But
I hope you're not going to spoil our friendship by turning out like
them. I believe I can read you: I'm rather psychic, you know. You are
not quite certain of your feelings towards Gwen. Why not tell me about
it? Who knows, perhaps I can advise you? The lion and the mouse, you
know. When did you first meet?'

There was a certain awful fascination about the woman. Instead of
telling her bluntly to[Pg 14] go to the devil, I merely quailed beneath her
mild inquiring eye, and said sulkily:

'During the war—near the beginning—before we went out. I was billeted
at her father's place——'

'At Bagworthy—yes? And you and Gwen were thrown together a great deal?'

'Not much. Company Training——'

'But you used to meet at dinner in the evening?'

'Yes—sometimes. Of course, there were night operations——'

'By the way, is it true that Lord Bagworthy used to hang tickets on the
decanters when the officers were at dinner, with "Port, sixpence a
glass" on them?'

It was true enough—except that the ticket had said ninepence; but my
spirit revolted against adding to this female scavenger's hoard.

'I don't drink port,' I said doggedly.

'I suppose that means that it is true,' she replied. 'You might have
told me: it would have gone no further. However, you will soon get to
know me better,' she added charitably. 'Poor Lord Bagworthy always was a
miser. I stayed there once, and a powdered footman actually tapped on my
bedroom door in the morning to ask whether I would require an egg[Pg 15] at
breakfast or not! Now, tell me when you met Gwen again.'

'At Bagworthy, more than two years later. The place was a convalescent
hospital by that time; and oddly enough——'

'What a romantic coincidence! Fate seemed to be throwing you together,
didn't it? And after the war you went out to India in the same ship with
her?'

'I like a lover,' she remarked, 'who looks the whole world in the face
and boasts of his love! Anyhow, I suppose you will be making some sort
of announcement soon, now that you are home again. Talk to Gwen at
dinner to-night. It would be so thrilling if——'

Why did everybody conspire to take Gwen and me for granted? Desperately
I changed the subject.

'What about this yachting expedition? 'I asked. 'I didn't know Sir James
had become a millionaire.'

Mrs. Massey gazed at me with a mixture of surprise and gratification.
Here was a really savoury bakemeat of truth to impart.

'Don't tell me you don't know where the yacht came from!' she said
eagerly.[Pg 16] 'I haven't the foggiest idea.'

'Lord Bagworthy got into some mess,' she said. 'Blackmail, I was told.
I'm afraid the poor man had been dreadfully indiscreet, and the
people—or person—had to be bought off. James Rumborough arranged
matters for him—most cleverly and tactfully, I believe: raised the
money by a mortgage, or something, kept the story out of the papers, and
was perfectly wonderful about everything. Of course, Lord Bagworthy was
most grateful; but he can't possibly afford to keep up a yacht for
several years now, so he has handed it over to James for the season. I'm
told that it's his way of paying James's bill, which is enormous. That
is why Gwen has been included in the party. She was stuck on the yacht,
like the stamp on a receipt.'

'Are you going?' I inquired.

'Oh yes. We're all going: we sail in about a fortnight.
Lisbon—Algiers—all those interesting places in the Mediterranean. It
ought to[Pg 17] be perfectly divine. Of course, dear Charlotte Rumborough is
treating the whole thing as a sort of deep-sea bridge-party. So like
her, isn't it? So sweet! She made up her own four before she thought of
anything else; that was why I was invited. The other two are Mr.
Jubberley and George Bumpstead.'

'Who is George Bumpstead?' I asked.

'The explorer and big-game hunter. A delightfully breezy person: he'll
make you roar with laughter. Full of jokes and epigrams, and such a
mimic! You ought to see him imitate Biff Burbidge.'

'Who is Biff Burbidge?'

'Oh, what a stranger you are to London! Biff Burbidge is a music-hall
comedian, or a revue actor, or something of that kind. He stands on the
stage in a funny attitude, and reels off long stories about his wife's
pet parrot: they make people simply shriek with laughter. George can do
it almost as well: at least, he thinks he can, and that makes him so
happy, poor dear. He's horribly vulgar, of course. By the way, there's
something I ought to tell you. I hate doing it, but—one must live up to
one's creed, mustn't one? George is getting far too fond of Gwen. Watch
them to-night.'

'Yes: all the yacht party are to be here, except Arabella Hockley. She
doesn't get away from school until the end of next week. Rather a
terrible child—a female hobbledehoy—not too clean, and given to impish
practical jokes. One has to be firm with her.'

Dimly in my mind a composite spectacle began to materialise—the
spectacle of the yacht party enjoying itself in the Mediterranean. I
could see them all—Sir James attired as a commodore, putting up
notices, and keeping a log, and piping all hands on deck upon the
slightest pretext; his wife producing four aces out of her sleeve and
shouting down adverse comment thereon; Jimmy Rumborough taking the helm
and blowing the ship's siren at passing craft; Gwen, my clinging,
helpless, soulful affinity, dumbly reproaching me for my deficiencies as
a cavalier, and at the same time angling successfully for the admiration
of every eligible male on the ship; Arabella Hockley, the female
hobbledehoy given to practical jokes, making apple-pie beds and hitting
people over the head with a deck-mop; Mr. Jubberley delivering a
political speech upon international amity upon the bridge, with Mr.
Podmore teaching the crew morris-dances upon the fo'c'sle, what time
George Bumpstead gave an imitation[Pg 19] of Biff Burbidge upon the
quarter-deck. And, of course, Mrs. Dunham-Massey, with her low, rippling
voice and apologetic smile, steeling herself to tell the truth, the
whole truth, and nothing but the truth about everybody on board whom she
happened to dislike. What a nightmare vessel! What a phantom ship! Never
in this world would I consent to set foot upon its deck. I am a broken
reed at repelling unwelcome invitations, but this time I would show
myself a pillar of brass.

My ruminations were interrupted by an outbreak of barbaric music,
emanating from a particularly raucous specimen of that accursed
instrument the gramophone. Like many London drawing-rooms, Lady
Rumborough's possessed a sort of second half, or annexe, visible through
an arched opening. It was here that the gramophone had sprung to life,
grinding forth one of those Ethiopian funeral dirges to which civilised
society prefers to dance to-day.

Into our field of vision from round the corner came a dancing couple.
The taller was my friend Jimmy Rumborough: the other was a girl—almost
a child—slim, dainty, and piquant, with her shapely head closely
shingled and two attractive black whiskers brought modishly forward
almost into her eyes. They stood to[Pg 20]gether in the middle of the floor,
almost stationary except for an occasional epileptic shudder, while
Master Rumborough uplifted his voice and howled like a dog, to the
effect that he was suffering from Prohibition Blues.

Suddenly I recognised his partner—her pert little nose, the set of her
head, and her wide smile. She was not a small boy after all—merely a
more than usually attractive specimen of that curious compound of
physical allure and sex-aloofness, the young girl of to-day. Well, she
would have made a very good boy; an ordinary Eton suit would have fitted
her to perfection.

I turned, automatically, to hear the truth about this young person from
Mrs. Dunham-Massey, and was aware of Lady Rumborough bearing down upon
me again.

'Come and make yachting plans!' she boomed.

Hardening my heart for the coming struggle, I followed her back to the
fire. Here I encountered my host, a twittering little man of about
fifty-five. His manner was alert and precise: from my earliest youth I
could never recall having known him untidy, or unpunctual, or anything
but maddeningly meticulous about everything. My old father once said to
me:[Pg 21] 'James Rumborough knows his job all right, but how he finds time to
do it beats me: he's so busy organising his own futile existence. You
know that absurd page which one finds in pocket diaries and
engagement-books, for entering the number of your watch and your size in
collars? Well, Rumborough fills that page right up: I've seen him do it!
The fellow's existence is one long, superfluous, footling card-index!'

I thought of the old man as I crossed the room, for Sir James was
sitting with a little pocket diary in his hand, issuing embarkation
orders therefrom.

'Come and sit down, Miles,' he said, shaking hands. 'Take a cigarette.
These are Turkish, those are Virginian. The matches are on the small
shelf to the right of the mantelpiece: you should find an ash-tray on
the left-hand corner of the lacquer cabinet. I want you to join our
Mediterranean party. The yacht sails from Southampton on Saturday the
twenty-seventh, at noon precisely. We go down by the nine-eighteen from
Waterloo. A seat will be reserved for you. Your heavy luggage will be
limited to one cabin trunk, not more than fourteen inches high, to fit
underneath your berth.' He turned over a page in his diary. 'As for the
itinerary—[Pg 22]we leave Gibraltar on the fourth, at seven p.m. We touch at
Barcelona, for a ramble ashore of two hours' duration——'

Life on this yacht was obviously going to be several degrees worse than
six weeks in the Second Division. The invitation must be refused before
I found myself condoning it by any appearance of interest or sympathy.
How was I to set about it? The honest course was to say frankly that I
loathed yachting, abhorred the Mediterranean, and valued my personal
liberty above rubies. The pillar of brass, in fact.

Alas! All I could bring myself to say was:

'By the worst luck in the world, I can't possibly leave England on the
twenty-seventh. I have a most important engagement on the third of the
following month. It's terribly bad luck, but there it is.' The broken
reed again!

Sir James looked up, quite ruffled.

'But, my dear fellow' he said, 'all the arrangements are made. You can't
possibly let us down like this. We're depending on you, with your
knowledge of travel and foreign languages—especially upon our shore
excursions. I may say I am organising some trips into the interior——'

So that was why I had been invited. Well, they could get a courier, and
pay him.

'I'm most awfully sorry,' I said lamely. (Confound it, why couldn't I
tell the little brute to go and boil his yacht, and himself inside it?)

'What is your engagement on the third?' inquired Lady Rumborough in a
voice of thunder.

This was a facer: too late I cursed myself for not having thought out a
reasoned defence scheme.

'It's a'—I checked myself just in time: funerals are not usually
arranged a fortnight ahead—'wedding!'

It was a tactical error of the first magnitude, because it committed me
to a position from which there was no escape.

'Whose wedding?' inquired the same inexorable voice.

'Nobody that you know,' I said. 'Quite a humble affair. If it was an
ordinary social function one could dodge it in the ordinary way; but in
this case I should cause very deep—you know!'

'Who is it?'

'Rorison,' I replied desperately. 'My man, you know. One can't offend
people like that.'

'Rorison shall come with you on the yacht,' announced Sir James,
'instead! That will compensate him more than amply for the post[Pg 24]ponement
of his happiness. Only six weeks, in any case. He can make himself
useful on board too: we require an extra steward.'

With the energy of despair I doubled on my tracks.

'I'm afraid that's not my only engagement,' I said: 'there's another.'
There was an expectant silence, while I dredged my imagination for
Rumborough-proof excuses. It was useless to plead estate business or
legal engagements of any kind: Sir James held me in the hollow of his
hand there. What else was there? Sport? A shooting party? That would be
howled down in a moment. A family reunion? I had no relatives, and the
Rumboroughs knew it. Where could I take sanctuary? What spot on all the
globe was safe from this omniscient little rabbit, who carried the size
of his neck about with him in a memorandum-book? Ah!—I had it!

'What is the engagement?' asked Sir James.

'Well,' I began awkwardly, 'it's not a matter I am at liberty to go into
very deeply; but there's a meeting I must attend at the War Office. One
of those rather confidential committees, you know.'

'What is he saying?' inquired Lady Rumborough, with whom, I was destined
to discover,[Pg 25] it was a favourite device, when momentarily baffled, to
feign extreme deafness.

'I understood our friend to say that he was compelled to attend a
confidential meeting at the War Office,' announced a heavy voice, and I
realised that Mr. Oswald Jubberley, M.P., had joined in our
deliberations.

'Yes,' I said boldly. 'It is held'—here I had another and, as it
proved, a fatal inspiration—'upon the first of every month.'

Sir James suddenly rose from his seat and disappeared from the room.

'I have some small influence,' announced Mr. Jubberley, sitting heavily
upon the sofa beside me and laying a pobby hand upon my knee, 'with the
Secretary of State for War. I venture to believe that a word from me,
tactfully delivered, would be sufficient to secure for our young friend
leave of absence for one month, or even two.'

'Please don't do anything of the kind,' I said anxiously. 'The existence
of the committee is not officially recognised: it would embarrass the
Secretary of State very seriously if any open mention were made.'

'In that case, Colonel Miles,' replied Jubberley, 'may I, in all
friendliness, suggest that your revelation of its existence was—shall[Pg 26]
we say—a trifle indiscreet? But of course, in the circumstances, my
offer of mediation is withdrawn.'

He blew over me, like a disappointed grampus, and removed his hand from
my knee. I breathed again. I had offended Jubberley, but I had spiked
his guns.

The door opened and Sir James reappeared. In his hand he carried a copy
of the current edition of that usually romantic but in this case
diabolical publication, the Continental Bradshaw.

'I have surmounted the difficulty,' he announced briskly. 'Colonel
Miles, you will leave London on the morning of the second, and travel
overland to Marseilles. There the yacht will meet you, upon the evening
of the third. We touch there in any case, for coal, supplies, and mail.
The boat-train leaves Victoria at nine a.m. It is advisable to reserve
your seat in advance.' He removed his pince-nez and closed the railway
guide with a satisfied snap. 'That is settled, then. Now, good people,
it is time we all went up to dress for dinner. Eight o'clock precisely,
please!'

I sat on in the deserted drawing-room, oblivious to the flight of time,
and to the fact[Pg 27] that I was violating the most sacred laws of Mulberry
Lodge. I had just decided that my only course was to go out to-morrow
morning and throw a brick into a plate-glass window and really get six
weeks in the Second Division, when the door opened and a slim,
shimmering vision, in an abbreviated evening frock, appeared before me.
It was my boyish little fellow-passenger of the afternoon.

'Hallo!' she said. 'Aren't you going to dress?'

I rose.

'I'm just going up,' I said.

'You'll get a fearful ticking-off if you're late,' she warned me, 'from
Mutt and Jeff, or both.'

'Whom did you say?'

'Mutt and Jeff—our noble host and hostess. You know the pictures of
Mutt and Jeff, don't you—the tall scraggy man and the little fat one?'

'Yes, rather.'

'Well, of course Lady Rumborough isn't a man, but she looks very like
Mutt when she's walking out with Sir James. And he simply is Jeff. It
was Jimmy who christened them.'

'No, of course you weren't. Jimmy has filthy manners,' replied the young
lady, helping herself to a cigarette. 'Who did you think I was?' She
favoured me with a smile. It was the smile of an expert flirt; but there
was no intention behind it—nothing but the natural camaraderie of a
friendly spirit. I chuckled.

'I took you for a boy,' I said. 'All I saw was your head sticking out of
that sort of manhole, and your short hair, and——'

'I used to know a girl of your name, some time ago—Barbara Chatterton.'

Lila's face lit up.

'Babs? You know my darling Babs? She's my big sister!'

'No!'

'Yes!'

In our excitement, I found, we were holding one another's hands.

'Now I come to look at you,' I said—all my shyness seemed to have been
thawed out of me by this agreeable discovery—'you're like her. She is
taller, and fair[Pg 29]——'

'Besides being the loveliest thing that ever lived,' said Lila simply.

'She married, didn't she?' I asked awkwardly.

Lila made a face.

'She did; but Heaven has been kind. Oh, my dear, what a horror that man
was! But he's been an angel for two years now—at least, we hope he is
an angel—so all is well. Babs is at Algiers: she's going to join us
there. Won't it be lovely? You're coming, of course?'

Noah's Ark

I lay on my back on the top of the chart-house of the Virginia—the
yacht which weighed thousands of something—extracting what comfort I
could from the pleasant sun and a bubbling briar pipe, and indulging in
a little morning hate.

I had not been long in discovering this refuge. It was approached by a
difficult little iron ladder, and was employed mainly as a depository
for spare spars and coils of rope. Consequently it had been overlooked
by my fellow-passengers as a place of resort—a fact which rendered it
invaluable to me: this was the second time I had taken sanctuary there
in twenty-four hours.

I had reached Marseilles the previous morning, having fortified myself
for the forthcoming ordeal by a quiet week-end in Paris. The yacht was
waiting for me, as inexorable as Fate, and as I dragged my reluctant
feet up the gangway I was received by both Mutt and Jeff in person.
Mutt, whom I had interrupted in a game of[Pg 31] bridge, contented herself
with shaking hands, and then hurried off to put her oar in at the
subsequent recriminations; but her consort was kind enough to show me my
cabin and rehearse me in the rules of the ship.

The cabin was a pleasant enough place, with a port-hole opening on to
the main deck, and a neat brass bedstead instead of a berth: also that
indispensability of the bad sleeper, an electric reading-lamp over the
pillow.

Sir James got to work at once.

'We breakfast at eight bells,' he announced. 'Luncheon is at three
bells. Tea is served on deck during the first dog-watch. We dine at
eight bells again. Do not attempt to open your port-hole: when the state
of the weather permits, your steward will do so for you. In the rack
above your head you will observe a life-jacket: kindly try it on at your
earliest convenience. There will be an emergency boat-drill during the
course of the day: I have purposely postponed it until your arrival. The
exact time of the alarm is, of course, an official secret, but its
occurrence will be notified by three short blasts on the yacht's siren,
when all hands will proceed at once to the upper deck and take station.
Ship's discipline must, of course, be maintained, even upon
pleasure-[Pg 32]excursions. You are in Boat Number Two: your fellow-passengers
will be Mrs. Dunham-Massey, Mr. Jubberley, Mr. Bumpstead, Miss Hockley,
and—er—Miss Gowlland. The chief engineer will command, and eight
members of the yacht's crew will also be in the boat—which I need
hardly say has been already provisioned and watered. You will find a
résumé of these instructions on the printed card hanging on that
wa—bulkhead. Have you breakfasted?'

'Yes, thank you.'

'Very good. If you should require anything before luncheon, do not
hesitate to ring for your steward. There shall be no stint of rations
and grog under my roo—fo'c'sle.' And with this brief lapse into
jocularity, my little host left me, already determined in my own mind
that if we were fortunate enough to be wrecked I would go down with the
ship rather than commit myself for an indefinite period to a small boat
containing Jubberley, Mrs. Dunham-Massey, and Gwen.

It was at boat-drill that I first encountered my shipmates. The alarm
sounded barely an hour after our departure from Marseilles; and
summoning to my aid my entire stock of respect for good order and
discipline, I arrayed myself[Pg 33] in a singularly unbecoming life-jacket and
went on deck. Needless to say, I was the first arrival.

I found Boat Number Two, a steam launch, swung outboard on its davits,
and waited forlornly. Presently I was joined by the chief engineer, a
sardonic Scot, who evidently had his own opinion of emergency
boat-drills. He accepted a cigarette, and we conversed laboriously.

Next came various members of the crew, looking sheepish and resentful
after the manner of seafaring men when called upon to perform what they
regard as unnecessary antics in company with passengers. They were
followed by Rorison, wearing his life-jacket wrong way round, and
depressed to the roots of his being. (This was not because of the
postponement of his nuptials, which were a pure figment of my own
hard-pressed imagination; but because, like his master, he disliked
making a public exhibition of himself.) The only person who seemed to be
extracting any enjoyment from the proceedings was the cook's mate, an
enormous negro, with rolling eyes and flashing teeth, who arrived
straight from his labours in the galley, armed with a knife about two
feet in length. I remember hoping that he would bring it along if[Pg 34] we
were actually wrecked: it might be useful with Jubberley.

Finally my fellow-passengers began to put in an appearance. I had not
encountered any of them since the dinner at Mulberry Lodge, and to my
jaundiced eye they appeared even more repulsive in their present setting
than in Regent's Park.

Jubberley wore white duck trousers, a red cummerbund, an alpaca jacket,
and a panama hat. Upon Margate sands, or at the annual picnic of his
parliamentary constituents, he would have made a majestic and
appropriate figure; but against a Mediterranean background he was merely
a polychromatic and gelatinous outrage. Mrs. Dunham-Massey was spruce
enough; she was too shrewd a woman to be caught napping where her
personal appearance was concerned. I knew that if the alarm had sounded
at three o'clock in the morning she would have answered the call with
her nose perfectly powdered and her mouth on quite straight.

Gwen, whose appearance was more than proof against picturesque disorder,
arrived with her hair down, wearing a fetching kimono and little pink
bedroom slippers. Needless to say, she was in a becoming state of
distress. The siren[Pg 35] had frightened her to death, and no one had warned
her that it was only a joke, and no one had helped her on with her
life-jacket, and she knew she looked horrible.

'You mean to be kind, Leslie,' she wailed, as I shook hands and began to
fumble with the strings of her jacket; 'but now that you have come on
board, at last, you might have—you are a tiny bit thoughtless, dear,
aren't you?'

When Gwen gets down to baby-talk—which is her way of indicating extreme
favour—I turn sick and faint. She does it for the same reason that a
kitten throws a live mouse into the air two or three times before
swallowing it—because she knows there is no need to hurry over such
absolutely helpless provender as this. She had started in on baby-talk
half-way through my so-called convalescent days at Bagworthy, and[Pg 36] she
had talked it whenever she felt like talking it, ever since. She had
even done it in the presence of her father, and I still remember that
long-suffering nobleman's start of incredulous joy and relief when he
realised that here, upon the horizon, was the glimmering dawn of a hope
that Gwen was at last going to permit some one to take her off his
hands. As for me, it was only by calling up my entire stock of mental
and moral fortitude that I had left Bagworthy still sane and free.

I may as well be quite frank about my relations with Gwen. A man has to
admit certain things about himself sometimes, even to himself.
Sentimental attachments are formed with fatal ease in days of national
stress, especially when the pursuer is disguised as an angel and the
pursued is an interesting invalid. Gwen certainly looked lovely in her
hospital uniform, and I suppose I looked lovely in my jaeger
dressing-gown; because there is no denying that for a short time it was
what is technically known as 'a case' between us. It was a very mild
case. I never even kissed her: disillusion came too swiftly.

Gwen proved to be a clinger of the most wistful and exhausting type—and
not a particularly fastidious clinger at that. She angled[Pg 37] impartially
for the admiration of every man in sight, and, to be just, she usually
got it. And she seldom let any of her victims go. An old Irishwoman of
my acquaintance once summed up a particularly artful friend and
neighbour of hers for my benefit by saying: 'That one would mind a flock
of mice at a cross-roads!' She must have been thinking of some one just
like Gwen.

Unfortunately, for some reason which I could never understand, Gwen
elected to install me as Principal Mouse. Other members of the flock
were permitted, in fullness of time, to escape by devious ways, their
places being taken by younger and less experienced victims; but I went
on for ever. I do not believe that Gwen cared for me one particle after
the first fortnight—in fact, I do not believe she ever cared for any
one in the world except Gwen Gowlland—but I seem to have grown into a
habit. At any rate, without denying herself anything at all in the way
of auxiliary attachments, she had pursued me from that day to this with
gentle, reproachful, remorseless fidelity until the world in general had
taken an understanding between us for granted.

I had just succeeded in adjusting my appointed soul-mate's life-jacket,
when our numbers were[Pg 38] augmented by the arrival of an odd-looking being,
whom I took to be Miss Arabella Hockley, the female hobbledehoy. I must
say that Mrs. Dunham-Massey's candid description seemed to fit her well.
She was a stocky, shambling creature of fifteen or sixteen. She wore
horn-rimmed spectacles and a pigtail, the latter fastened apparently
with a piece of fishing-line. She suffered from the further disability
of beetling brows and a shiny nose. She was attired in a ragged old
Aquascutum and rubber boots, and was eating an orange—a rather pulpy
orange—and trailing her life-jacket behind her by one of the strings.
She was suffering from a heavy cold in the head, an affliction which I
afterwards discovered to be more or less chronic.

There was another group lined up on the deck, not far from ours. It
consisted of the remainder of the yacht party, headed by Lady
Rumborough, and a further contingent of the crew. Sir James himself, in
white ducks and a yachting cap, accompanied by the captain, a[Pg 39] large man
with an obvious sense of humour, had just finished inspecting them.

'You may dismiss,' I heard him say. 'Life-jackets will be replaced
exactly where found, forthwith.'

Instead of obeying these perfectly explicit orders, several of Number
One Boat party, headed by Lila and Jimmy, followed the inspector and
escort along the deck in our direction.

Sir James took his stand facing us, and surveyed us longingly. It was
quite obvious that he would have liked to call us to attention in
military style, but possibly he was deterred by the somewhat ribald
attitude of at least two of the spectators. He contented himself by
barking, 'Silence, please!' He then produced a memorandum-book from his
pocket, and proceeded to call out our names.

'The Honourable Gwendolyn Gowlland?'

'Yes, Sir James; do you want me?' inquired the lady indicated, bestowing
upon her host the unused half of a smile which she had already employed,
without success, to demoralise the ship's boy, who formed part of the
gallery.

'Hallo!' responded Arabella affably, her utterance obscured by
orange-pulp. With a little sigh Sir James turned over a page and tried a
fresh sex.

'Mr. Oswald Jubberley?'

'Present!' This was evidently the right word, for Sir James proceeded
briskly:

'Colonel Leslie Miles?'

'In attendance!' At the last moment my tongue had flatly declined to
follow a lead set by Jubberley. Jimmy and Lila sniggered. My host gave
me a reproving look over his pince-nez, and passed on.

'Mr. George Bumpstead?'

There was silence. Evidently the renowned explorer, big-game hunter,
humorist, and mimic had not heard the siren.

'Mr. George Bumpstead?' repeated Sir James, raising his voice.

Arabella removed her orange with an audible squelch.

'It's dot buch use callig hib out,' she observed: 'he's dot here.'

'But he ought to be here,' rejoined Sir James[Pg 41] severely. 'An order is an
order. My God! what's that?'

The door of the deck-house behind us burst violently open, and, with an
ear-splitting shriek, the figure of a female, closely veiled, shot forth
and projected itself upon Sir James's bosom.

'Save me! save me!' the apparition howled, in a robust falsetto. 'Don't
let me go to the bottom of the sea! I will be good! Stop the storm! I'm
not fit to die. Don't go down the ladder, laddie: they've taken it away!
Ow! Ow!'

Further lamentations were cut short by Lady Rumborough, who strode
forward and seized the suppliant by the shoulders.

'You're wearing my hat!' she announced.

Besides the hat and veil this singular vision wore a multi-coloured
jumper, a pink chiffon scarf, and a green silk petticoat. Below all
protruded trousered legs and a pair of number eleven yachting shoes.

'Come, come!' spluttered Sir James. 'This is an official parade——'

But these very proper remonstrances were drowned by a second outbreak of
hysteria, in the course of which the new arrival scrambled up by one of
the davits into the boat. Having achieved this eminence, she removed her
hat[Pg 42] and veil with a single flourish, revealing herself as a
pudding-faced young man of about thirty, with a low forehead and a mouth
like a fish. To the appreciative laughter of Jimmy, Lila, the cook's
mate, and the ship's boy, he now placed his right elbow in his left
palm, and his right palm behind his right ear, uttered a parrot-like
screech, and embarked upon an imitation of that incomparable comedian,
Mr. Biff Burbidge.

In other words, it was George Bumpstead being funny—at eleven o'clock
in the morning!

After lunch I discovered the iron ladder and the roof of the
chart-house. Here I spent a tolerable afternoon. And now, next morning,
I was up there again, chiefly to escape fulfilment of various
commitments entered into, under duress, at dinner, or thereafter, the
previous evening.

At that meal, as the tenderfoot of the party, I sat next to Lady
Rumborough. On her other side was Jubberley, who had Lila for his
right-hand neighbour. Mrs. Dunham-Massey, Podmore, and Arabella Hockley
were at Sir James's end of the table. I was particularly glad to be
removed from the neighbourhood of Arabella. She had taken a sort of
ungainly fancy to me, and after tea had insisted on bringing her chair[Pg 43]
over beside mine, where she sat extracting mussels from their shells,
with a view to a little deep-sea fishing in the near future, breathing
heavily, and endeavouring to charm me to some romantic confidence upon
the subject of Gwen.

Upon my left, needless to say, was Gwen herself. Beyond her sat George
Bumpstead, at the top of his form. Apparently he always was.

Beyond the fact that he was an oaf of the first water, possessed
enormous quantities of money, and had mysteriously acquired a
reputation—among the Rumborough household, at any rate—as a sportsman,
I knew nothing of him. To my intense satisfaction he devoted practically
the whole of dinner to a sort of cave-man courtship of Gwen. If he did
not actually strike her over the head with a decanter, he contradicted
all she said, commanded her in thunderous tones to eat or drink this or
that, and issued a stream of intimations as to what she was to do—in
his company, of course—to-morrow. Gwen, to whom no form of masculine
attention came amiss, sized up her man with unerring instinct, and
adopted the rôle of trembling fawn, thus luring the uncouth youth to
incredible heights of palæolithic gallantry. Occasionally she gave[Pg 44] me a
'poor-little-Gwen' look. But I was not to be drawn: I kept my eyes
resolutely on my plate.

'Well, we've got nearly all of them on board now,' said Lady Rumborough
to me. 'Do you know Barbara Hatton?'

'Oh! Is it near Majorca? We're on our way there now: we ought to arrive
to-morrow evening. Isn't Majorca the place where the pottery comes from?
Or is it canaries?'

'Hens, I think. Anyhow, Minorca is.'

'Well, it doesn't matter in the least. I suppose you know every one else
on board by this time?'

'Yes: I had met them at your house at dinner, except Miss Hockley.'

'Oh, Arabella? We had to have her. She's a niece of some kind of
James's—his younger brother Vernon's second wife's daughter by her
first husband, or something rather tiresome[Pg 45] like that. Did you find her
a nuisance this afternoon?'

'Not at all. I found her delightful.'

'Speak up! You're on my deaf side.'

I perjured myself a second time, fortissimo.

'Oh! I thought you said "frightful,"' said Lady Rumborough
unconcernedly, and continued:

'Are you a good sailor?'

'Yes.'

'So am I. Margot Massey isn't, so you may have to take her place at
bridge. You haven't met George Bumpstead before?'

'I'm sorry. I didn't know you were listening.' My tone was a trifle
short, and I was punished at once.

'Leslie dear, don't bully me to-night: I can't bear it! I had been
looking forward to a perfectly sweet talk with you; but this man'—with
an attractive left shoulder-blade she indicated Bumpstead, who was
showing Mrs. Dunham-Massey how it is possible to play a[Pg 46] tune on one's
cheek with the flat of a table-knife—'simply won't let me talk to any
one but him. Poor little——'

As if to give point to Gwen's words, the humorist at this moment
demanded and received her undivided attention while he gave his
celebrated imitation of Biff Burbidge's celebrated imitation of a man
eating spaghetti. I took a despondent draught of claret. And this was
only the first night of my trip!

My hostess was conversing with Jubberley, in what she plainly imagined
was an undertone.

'He was blown up in the war,' she announced in a reverberating stage
whisper. 'He's very moody and unsociable: I don't think he's always
quite right in his head.'

'Extremely likely,' commented Jubberley. 'I will have a chat with him
afterwards. He may like to hear of the conclusions reached by the
Parliamentary Sub-committee, of which I was chairman, appointed a few
years ago to inquire into the questions of War Strain and Industrial
Fatigue. I feel sure I could interest him.'

I had just realised who Jubberley's after-dinner auditor was going to
be, when Lady Rumborough gave the signal for upheaval, and we adjourned
to the upper deck for coffee.

I spent the next hour enduring or evading the attentions of my
shipmates. By bedtime I had danced a one-step with Arabella Hockley,
heard all there was to be known about War Strain and Industrial Fatigue,
played a rubber of bridge with George Bumpstead as partner, reduced Gwen
almost to tears by failing to exhibit resentment over her flirtation
with the same gentleman, and faithfully promised to attend
choir-practice upon the fo'c'sle deck at nine o'clock next
morning—subject of practice, Sea Chanties; conductor, Mr. Podmore.

That was why I was now lying doggo upon the roof of the chart-house.
Below me, on the main deck, I could hear Mr. Podmore's high-pitched
voice inciting Lila, Mrs. Dunham-Massey, Jimmy Rumborough, and, to judge
by the noise, the ship's boy—who, since his voice had just reached the
cracking stage, was able to sing two octaves at once—to persevere in a
ditty beginning:

Boney was a warrior—Yah! Yay! Yah!Boney was a warrior—John Frangswah!

Well, Majorca was in sight, and with luck they would all be ashore
during the afternoon. If not, I would be. I leaned against[Pg 48] a coiled
two-inch hawser, and refilled my pipe.

I may note that my escape from the musical exercises in progress was due
to the fact that Mr. Podmore, to his bitter disappointment, had
discovered that the yacht possessed no capstan.

'Chanties are of two kinds,' he explained—'Capstan Chanties and Halyard
Chanties. In the former case, capstan bars were inserted into the
customary holes in the capstan—usually eight in number—and the crew
walked round the capstan, pushing the bars before them, and singing the
chanty. The musician stood upon the summit of the rotating capstan, and
accompanied. In this manner the labour of raising the anchor was
agreeably lightened. However, as there appears to be no capstan upon
this vessel—nothing, in fact, but a quite unsuitable horizontal
contrivance, operated by steam—we must content ourselves with a Halyard
Chanty. In that case, I shall not require quite so many volunteers.' (I
began to back stealthily towards the chart-house.) 'We will haul on to
this rope, which I have secured to the foot of this mast, in time to the
music of the chanty, singing and heaving rhythmically together until I
cry, "Belay, there!"—which means, "Pause for rest."'

By this time I was out of sight, and almost out of hearing. That was
half an hour ago, but Mr. Podmore's voice was still audible at
intervals.

'This chanty,' I could hear him say, 'is employed by sailors when
operating the top-gallant halyards. "Boney," of course, is Napoleon
Bonaparte. The expression "John Frangswah!" is a corruption of "Jean
François." It is not known precisely who——'

Feet grated upon my hitherto inviolate iron ladder, and a snoring sound
became audible. Next moment an unclean hand rose above the edge of the
chart-house roof, followed by an unkempt head, and I found myself gazing
into the face of Arabella Hockley.

The Mixer at Work

I

Of the succeeding week on board the Virginia I need say little,
because the record of my sufferings during that period has no very
direct bearing upon this narrative. A few isolated incidents will
suffice.

I found myself disliking my shipmates more and more. However, I
struggled gallantly against my healthiest instincts: over and over again
I told myself that I was a morose, self-centred curmudgeon, and that
every one in this world improves upon acquaintance if only we take the
trouble to cultivate him. Therefore, determined to cultivate my present
companions—if only in the sense in which a bacteriologist cultivates
germs; that is, for the purposes of inoculation—I set out to convert
myself into what Americans call 'a good mixer.'

First of all I tried mixing with George Bumpstead. I invited him to come
ashore with me when we touched at Majorca.

We landed at the jetty of the clean, sunny[Pg 51] little town of Palma, and
George immediately assumed the port and mien of the Englishman
abroad—the Englishman of the French comic papers. He swaggered up the
middle of the steep, narrow streets, wearing a sun-helmet and plus-fours
of the cross-word-puzzle type, and declining to make way for anything on
legs, whether four or two. He greeted the architecture of the quaint
little town, and the picturesque costumes of its inhabitants, with the
simple and honest derision of a higher civilisation. He addressed all
gendarmes as 'Alphonso,' and gave an imitation of Biff Burbidge to a
dazed old woman selling fruit by the quayside.

At luncheon, which we took in a pleasant little hotel, in company with
Jimmy Rumborough and Lila, he began by quarrelling with the food. It was
admirable food, though the dishes were served in an order foreign to
British ideas. They were certainly foreign to the ideas of George
Bumpstead, and that sturdy patriot said so, crescendo, with each
successive course.

We began, orthodoxly enough, with a tray of hors-d'œuvres of every shape
and colour, and one flavour—garlic. After that came spaghetti, then a
ragout of mutton; then, a little unex[Pg 52]pectedly, fish. From this we
proceeded to solid fillets of beef; then, mercifully, dessert. I began
to realise that the Spanish post-prandial siesta is not a siesta at all:
it is a state of coma. We drank two bottles of agreeable white wine, and
the whole meal cost us a little over twenty pesetas, or about fifteen
shillings. But, needless to say, George Bumpstead exercised his
prerogative as a true-born Englishman to pronounce the charge excessive
and send for the manager. When that functionary was not forthcoming, he
threatened to send for the police. Of course, he did not speak Spanish:
he cherished a theory, amounting to an obsession with persons of his
type, that upon the Continent of Europe you can always make yourself
understood if you speak English long enough and loud enough.

However, the unshaven but courtly old hidalgo who waited upon us, though
apparently unfortified by any special gift of repartee or irony,
undoubtedly had the best of the contest. In response to George's
reiterated demands for a gendarme he proffered successively a sliced
sausage, a banana, and finally George's own stick and sun-helmet, the
latter possibly as a delicate intimation that we had his leave to go.

'Try drawing a picture of a gendarme on the back of the menu,' said
Lila.

At this point I intervened—still persevering in my rôle of good mixer.

'That reminds me,' I said, 'of a story I once heard of a man who was
lunching in Madrid. He couldn't get milk for his coffee, and couldn't
make the waiter understand. Finally, he drew a picture of a cow on the
tablecloth, and the waiter hurried away and brought him back two tickets
for a bull-fight!'

'Why?' asked Lila.

'That's a rotten story,' said George Bumpstead.

'A bit frosty about the whiskers, Colonel—what?' was Jimmy's comment.

I have an odd and exasperating temper. I am slow to anger: that is to
say, if any one ruffles me or insults me I am not conscious of any
particular feeling of resentment for a considerable time, sometimes as
much as five minutes. Then suddenly it all comes with a rush—blind,
inarticulate, and useless rage. By this time, of course, it is too late
to do anything about it: as likely as not I answered the insult at the
time with a smile or an acquiescent nod of the head. It is impossible to
interrupt con[Pg 54]versation now in order to say to my opponent: 'On thinking
over your remark of five minutes ago, I realise that I am in a towering
rage and I propose to hit you on the jaw.' No, I simply sit consuming my
own smoke and muttering to myself scathing retorts which are now worse
than useless.

That is how I felt upon this occasion. I had tried to be a good mixer.
These people were my guests. I disliked them all—their point of view,
their personal habits, and their mode of speech. Yet I had asked them to
luncheon and endeavoured to amuse them by an apt anecdote. And this was
my reward. I boiled: my teeth chattered: I grew as red as a pillar-box.
But no one took any notice: the argument over the bill was being
continued.

'I am not going to be done by any Dago!' roared George Bumpstead. 'Let's
break this lousy place up.'

'George darling,' announced Lila, busy with her lip-stick, 'remember
there are ladies present. Stop making circus noises, and let's go and
play on the beach.'

'Talking of circuses,' continued Lila, light[Pg 55]ing a gold-tipped cigarette
which bore her initials in gilt letters, 'Mr. Podmore has another spasm
in store for us. We're going to do a morris-dance on the deck one
afternoon. You'll be for it, Leslie.' (I may note that Lila had dropped
into the habit of calling me by my Christian name practically from our
first meeting. This, I soon discovered, was a gesture of respect: had
she classed me with most of her friends, I should have been addressed as
Blobs, or Nobbs, or Tops, or Putty.)

'What in hell is a morris-dance?' inquired George Bumpstead.

The expressions 'hell' and 'damn,' together with informal invocations of
the Deity, are common enough in these days in the highest society, and,
compared with some which might be employed, are, when you come to think
of it, not particularly pernicious. But I suppose I am old-fashioned,
and it still makes me uncomfortable to hear them employed in the
presence of a young girl. I stirred in my seat, and wished that I
possessed the moral courage to improve the occasion. Perhaps I should
have done so, for I was in a savage mood, but for the fact that Lila
herself appeared quite undisturbed.

'You will soon know, Georgie,' she replied. 'Podmore will dress you up
in a smock-frock,[Pg 56] and a top-hat brushed the wrong way, with chiffon
round it; and they'll tie leggings round your legs with bells on, and
give you two silly little sticks to crack together.'

'My God! what for?' inquired George Bumpstead simply.

'To cultivate the old folk spirit.'

'What old folk?'

'I don't know, dear. But I fancy it's the old folks at home—down the
Swanee River, and so on. Am I right, Jimmy?'

'Don't talk tripe, Lila,' begged the gentleman addressed.

'Then, George,' continued Lila, with a seraphic smile in my direction,
'you will be placed opposite to Gwen, who will wave her handkerchief at
you, and you'll trip round the mast after her, cracking your heels
together. Have you ever tried cracking your heels together? It hurts
horribly. You'll look perfectly divine.'

'Perfectly nothing!' retorted George. 'I don't stand for any of that
rot. Leslie Miles shall do it.'

And somewhere in the bottom of my heart I felt that the uncouth young
man was right.

'All the same, though,' interposed Jimmy, 'we might get some innocent
fun out of old[Pg 57] man Podmore in another way. He's dippy on spooks. We'll
make him hold a séance—rapping, and table-turning, and psychic
messages, and punk of that kind.'

'What does he do, exactly?' asked Lila.

'I'm not sure; but you sit in a circle holding hands——'

'I will not hold Jubberley's,' said Lila. 'They feel like poached eggs.'

'You needn't: I'll hold one of yours and old Miles shall hold the other.
Then the lights are turned out——'

'In that case, Mr. Rumborough,' announced Lila, virtuously rolling up
her eyes, 'I shall sit next to my chaperon.'

'Don't talk bilge, Lila. Listen! We sit in the dark holding hands, and
ask questions; and then we get answers and messages.'

'Who from?'

'From any one you like to ring up. Cæsar, Pompey, Crippen, anybody. And
if you and I and one or two others of the best type of bright young
modernists sit together, and have had a bit of a rehearsal, old Podmore
will get one or two messages from the Great Beyond that'll surprise
him—what, what?'

'At Naples. She'll board the lugger in a couple of days now. When she
does, I'm afraid she'll get it hot from your esteemed pop, Jimmy dear.'

'Why?'

'Because she wrote to say that she was joining us at Algiers. Now a
cable's arrived to say that she's at Naples. Apparently she mixed the
two places up: she has entirely disorganised about six pages of the
yacht's time-table. However, it's up to her to fix Mutt and Jeff—not
us. Darling Babs! She always was waffly about dates, and places, and
things like that.'

Two days—reinforcements in two days! And I had expected no relief for a
week. My black mood lifted, and I even contrived to smile when George
Bumpstead addressed an elderly Spanish lady in the vestibule of the
hotel as Mary Pickford.

II

A casual student of human nature might have said that there could never
have been a milder or more inoffensive creature than Mr. Podmore.
Another student, a little more advanced, might have added that no one
could be quite so inoffensive as Mr. Podmore looked. He possessed a[Pg 59]
receding chin, a long and bird-like neck, a low voice, and a deprecating
manner; and his outstanding characteristic was a sort of timid but
remorseless pertinacity. For him the sun rose and set upon his hobbies,
and for their sake he would endure any rebuff, any insult; and he could
enforce his schemes with flinching inflexibility upon people blatantly
amused, politely evasive, or frankly hostile.

We were at sea again, and were bridging the interval between luncheon
and tea in characteristic fashion. Lila and Jimmy were dancing the
tango, to the sound of the eternal gramophone, weaving a languid course
among bollards and deck-chairs. Jimmy had arrayed himself for the
occasion in a costume which, though for a time it became tolerably
familiar to our aching vision in London, was at that moment a
comparative novelty—pinkish flannel trousers, so wide round the lower
edges that they entirely covered his shoes, and a sage-green jersey with
a high collar terminating somewhere under the ears. Since coming on
board, Jimmy had also grown some rather nasty little side-whiskers,
reaching as far down as the top of the sage-green collar, and making him
look like an Argentine gigolo. Lila was attired, for no particular
reason that I could see, in white cord breeches[Pg 60] and a soft silk shirt.
As an illustration of the modern passion for all outward effacement of
sex, the picture was complete.

Lady Rumborough, Jubberley, Mrs. Dunham-Massey, and George Bumpstead
were playing bridge under the awning over the stern—or rather, they
were engaged upon one of the usual post-mortems, with Jubberley as
coroner. Sir James was doing something busy down below—probably
checking up empty soda-water bottles with the steward. Gwen and I were
leaning over the taffrail a few yards from the bridge-party, in a
proximity which looked much more sentimental than it really was. Gwen
was endeavouring, with indifferent success, to stimulate me to some
lover-like outburst, what time I gloomily surveyed the receding island
of Elba and wondered why Napoleon should ever have wished to escape from
it. Somewhere behind the deck-house which contained the steam steering
gear hovered Arabella Hockley, fingering a kodak, in the sure and
certain hope that I, given time, would eventually put my arm round
Gwen's waist, and thus render myself liable, if not to blackmail, at
least to elephantine pleasantries.

To us, suddenly, entered Mr. Podmore, from below. In his arms he clasped
an assortment of[Pg 61] oddments resembling nothing so much as the 'souvenirs'
which are given away so lavishly on so-called gala nights at our more
progressive restaurants, as an incentive to mad gaiety. There were
things which jingled, and things which fluttered, and things which
merely dropped upon the deck as Mr. Podmore advanced upon us.

Glad of any diversion, I turned from Gwen and watched him. Having
deposited his paraphernalia in a heap, he took up an apologetic position
on Lady Rumborough's right hand and George Bumpstead's left.

'I wonder——' he began.

'I shall make it two hearts,' announced Jubberley, who was Lady
Rumborough's partner.

Podmore tried again.

'If you are interested in morris-dancing at all, Lady Rumborough——'

'Well, I haven't got any hearts,' said her ladyship; 'you'll have to
make them yourself.'

George Bumpstead broke in.

'Three clubs,' he remarked loudly.

'I am collecting volunteers for a morris-dance——' Mr. Podmore pursued.
Needless to say, no one took the slightest notice.

'I don't know what to do,' mused Lady Rum[Pg 62]borough, with her accustomed
frankness. 'My partner goes something I haven't got, and my opponent
goes something that I have practically all of. What did you declare on,
George?'

'Charlotte dear!' murmured Mrs. Dunham-Massey; 'I am only your guest,
but really, there are times when one must speak out. One isn't allowed
to give information to one's partner, is one?'

Lady Rumborough threw down her cards, face upwards, and dexterously
swept George Bumpstead's into the heap.

'Very well,' she said, 'we'll wash this game out.'

Mr. Podmore pounced upon his opportunity, oblivious of the stentorian
protests of George[Pg 64] Bumpstead and the acidulated comments of his
partner.

'The dance which I propose to try first,' he said, 'is called Shepherd's
Hay, or Ray. It used to be very popular in the counties of Oxfordshire
and Warwickshire—in the rural districts, of course.'

'Ah!' said Jubberley, looking up. Jubberley's constituency was a rural
district in Warwickshire.

'You will be glad to hear,' continued Mr. Podmore, dropping contentedly
into his lecture-room manner, 'that our efforts to revive these merry
dances have been crowned with considerable success. For "Shepherd's Hay"
I require six dancers and a musician. The dancers should be all
male——'

'All male? Ha!' said Jubberley again, with increased interest. Plainly
he could already see his constituents dancing the morris-dance on
Saturday afternoons instead of going to Socialistic meetings.

'But we can waive that point. The proper musical instrument is a small
pipe, having three holes. Unfortunately I have not been able to obtain
this; but a violin will serve. Does any one here play the violin?'

'Jimmy plays the saxophone divinely,' announced Lila, who had stopped
the gramophone and joined the group. 'Run and fetch it, Jimmy dear.'

Master James complied, unquestioningly: Mr. Podmore's subtle magnetism
was making itself felt. The whole of our company were now gathered round
him; even Sir James had been drawn upon deck by the same mystic
influence, and was already taking fatuous charge of the arrangements.

'An admirable suggestion!' he announced. 'But we must do things properly
and in order. You require six dancers, Podmore?'

'Yes; in two ranks of three each. The leader of the first rank is
designated the Foreman; of the other, the Hindman. The other dancers are
termed Middlemen.'

'Capital!' said Sir James. 'Mr. Podmore, you shall be Foreman;
Bumpstead, you are Hindman.'

'No, thanks,' replied the gentleman addressed. 'You can count me out of
this, James: Sunday School romps aren't in my line. If it was a
point-to-point race, or a bit of crocodile shooting, now——'

'George is much too clumsy,' announced Lady Rumborough, ruthlessly
cutting short the[Pg 66] speaker's catalogue of his manly accomplishments,
with which we were all by this time painfully familiar. Her eye roved
round the group, and fell on me. 'Leslie Miles, you can be Hindmost, or
whatever it is.'

Despondent but unsurprised, I fell in beside Podmore.

'Now for some Middlemen,' continued Sir James briskly.

'May I be permitted to participate?' inquired Jubberley, upheaving
himself with the massive condescension of an elephant who has decided to
mingle, for once, with the Bandar Log.

'By all means,' said Sir James. 'Stand over there, by Leslie Miles and
Mr. Podmore, Jubberley. Now for the ladies. Mrs. Dunham-Massey——'

At this moment a resounding blare from the companionway announced the
arrival of the saxophone; and Gwen, with a piteous glance in my
direction, crossed the deck and joined our dismal troupe.

Mr. Podmore now proceeded to the subject of costume.

'To be quite correct,' he told us, 'the dancers would wear white
knickerbockers—as I have already explained, they should be all males:
the sexes do not join in morris-dances—supported by braces. Coats and
waistcoats, needless to say, are discarded, and coloured rosettes are
pinned to the braces, both in front and behind. Strips of ribbon are
tied round the upper and lower arm, and also round—— But we need not
be too meticulous to-day, as this is merely a first rehearsal. Let us
keep to essentials. Kindly help one another to dress.'

He dived into the heap of miscellaneous rubbish at his feet, and
proceeded to deal out[Pg 68] our festal attire. Presently I found myself, in
my shirt-sleeves, fastening red and green ribbons round Gwen's arms;
while Gwen, with more coyness than efficiency, pinned a rosette on to my
braces and, incidentally, myself.

This done, other and more direful apparatus was served out to us. In due
course Mr. Podmore placed upon my head—or rather, well down over my
ears—a species of white glazed bowler hat, decorated with more ribbons;
and then bade me encase my shins in a pair of leather pads covered with
bells, which jingled maddeningly at the slightest movement.

Finally, we were each furnished with a pair of 'sally-sticks'—wooden
batons with coloured streamers—and were herded into our places by our
self-appointed master of ceremonies, Sir James Rumborough.

I was stationed between Podmore and Jubberley. If I looked a more
repellent object than I felt, I am only sorry for the trio who stood
facing me. My companions, though, were well in the picture. Podmore
looked like a decrepit but dissipated flamingo. As for Jubberley, words
fail to describe him. He wore ribbons on his braces and bells upon his
shins like the rest of us, but there was an elusive something about
him—some ne plus ultra of[Pg 69] pompous imbecility—which I felt that we
had somehow failed to achieve. Perhaps it was his bowler, which was many
sizes too small for his head, and suggested a portrait by Mr. Heath
Robinson.

Gwen was my vis-à-vis. She made a pretty enough picture, with her
white pleated skirt, trim ankles, and great melting eyes, all set off by
gay ribbons. And she knew it, too, as her shrinking glances in my
direction attested. Mrs. Dunham-Massey looked as well-preserved and
self-composed as usual. Lila, with her bowler cocked on one side, and
her slim arms and legs all aflutter, really did suggest the spirit of
youth and dancing.

'I will now briefly describe the steps,' announced Mr. Podmore. 'You
will stand behind one another in two parallel ranks of three each,
facing the musician and directing all your movements towards him.
Standing strictly at attention while the air is played over is an
important point, and should always be observed—Miss Chatterton!'

'Something quite simple, please,' said Podmore hastily. 'I may add that
the player should avoid the temptation to put his own variations into
the tune. That would be contrary to the spirit of morris-dancing.'

'Righto!' said James, and played a few bars. 'How's that?'

'Filthy,' replied the voice of George Bumpstead, from the depths of his
chair.

'Don't be jealous, Georgie!' This from that small loyalist, Lila. 'Will
it do, Mr. Podmore?'

'It must do,' said Mr. Podmore resignedly. 'Now for the steps. The step
is always begun with the right foot. Spring twice from that foot,
thus'—Mr. Podmore leaped into the air with uncanny suddenness—'and as
you drop on to the left, kick smartly out with the right leg, as if to
straighten it. Oh, I beg your pardon, Mr. Jubberley!'

Jubberley, tenderly massaging his left kneecap, said it was of no
consequence.

'Then spring twice from the left foot. The spring should have nothing
mincing or dainty about it: the intention is merely to make the bells
tinkle heartily. Then, on a rising cadence[Pg 71] of the music, jump with both
feet and come down on the heels, at the same time cracking the
sally-sticks together. That will be sufficient to begin with, I think.
Let us rehearse these simple movements thoroughly before proceeding
further. Now, musician, if you please!'

The revels began. Feeling as I had not felt since attending my first
dancing-class (mixed) at the age of seven, I did as I was told, leaping
forlornly into the air, with my bells jangling and my nightmare
headpiece flapping about my ears, ashamed to the roots of my being.

Behind me I could hear the joyous laughter of that child of nature,
George Bumpstead, and for once I could not find it in my heart to
criticise him. Once, too, in a moment of comparative silence, I
overheard the click of a camera, and I realised that Arabella Hockley
was doing her bit in the general conspiracy for my humiliation.

Next morning we steamed into the Bay of Naples. The cloud was off the
top of Vesuvius, and the crater was smoking in easy and reflective
puffs, like an old gentleman with a cigar. I hailed the sight of land as
Xenophon's army once hailed the sight of the sea. Not only[Pg 72] could I
escape from my present company for an hour or two, but somewhere in the
human ant-heap piled up on those sunny slopes was—Barbara. It was odd
how I held on to the thought of her.

Truants

I

We sat upon the balustraded terrace which borders Bertolini's Hotel—the
famous establishment which you reach by penetrating a long tunnel and
then shooting upwards in an elevator through some hundreds of feet of
living rock—looking down upon the noisy, dusty, dilapidated, and
entirely overrated city of Naples.

Not that I was in a critical mood. I had eluded the whole body of my
shipmates for the day, and was drinking coffee and smoking in the warm
sunshine, with Barbara smiling upon me from the other side of the little
table.

I do not think I have described Barbara as yet, and I am not quite sure
that I can. She is an extraordinarily beautiful person, with that unique
air of unruffled serenity which goes with women of really patrician
mould. One could never imagine her fussing, or nagging, or indulging in
those whims and caprices which form the entire stock-in-trade of another
type[Pg 74] of beauty. (I name no names. All I mean to imply is that upon this
particular morning I found Barbara incredibly soothing.)

Barbara is tall—five feet eight, I should say—and her eyes are as blue
as the waters round Capri. Her hair is as fair as her little sister's is
dark. The lines of her body are long and slim; her smile is a thing to
dream about; and in all our acquaintance I have never known her harbour
a mean thought or do a spiteful thing.

However, I appear to be drifting into the present tense, which is surely
wrong in an historical narrative. Let us begin again.

My recollections of Barbara Chatterton stretched back ten years or so,
to days when she had been less serene than this—a long-legged,
impulsive, tempestuous creature with a flying mane, my accomplice in
many a boy-and-girl escapade, and at once my wise counsellor and loyal
backer. She had always mothered me, even when she was fourteen and I was
eighteen. It was Barbara who had rejoiced when I won my colours at
school; it was Barbara who had approved when I made up my mind to enter
Sandhurst; and it was Barbara who had comforted me when I failed,
ignominiously. Dear Barbara!

Then suddenly, a few years later, when she was barely nineteen, and I
was buried in the country, tied there by my father's last illness, she
married one Eric Hatton, and went clean out of my life. I had been
unconsciously schooling myself for some such shock as this for
years—who of us has not?—but I felt it pretty badly for a while. Of
course, the thing could not be helped: I had foreseen that all along.
Englishmen of our class do not marry young: their entire career is
shaped upon the supposition of a late marriage. So your English boy,
since he feels that he cannot in decency invite his first love to wait
five or ten years for him, lets her go without a struggle, if not
without a pang. When he is thirty or so he marries a girl of twenty,
taking her away, as often as not, from some lifelong cavalier of
twenty-one.

It had never occurred to me when I was twenty-one to ask Barbara to
wait. Why should I be a dog in the manger, and grudge her the happiness
which I was in no position to give her? Still—still—I could not help
wishing that she had chosen any other mate than Eric Hatton.

Of her married life I knew little, except that it had not been a happy
one. Eric Hatton had[Pg 76] taken her to India, and after a few years she had
returned alone, a widow of four-and-twenty. Her husband's death had been
sudden, and was officially ascribed to sunstroke. Every one seemed
content to leave it at that—eager to leave it at that. Hatton's
brother-officers spoke with guarded appreciation of his charm of manner,
of his amusing sallies at mess, of his fine horsemanship. No reference
was made to the constancy of his nature, or his temperate habits, or his
solicitude for those dependent upon him. All were content to hope, with
Lila, that he was an angel now, and leave it at that.

But at the time these things were all hidden from me, for my attention
was fully occupied elsewhere. The great upheaval of war had come, and it
did for me what Sandhurst could never have done: it made me a
lieutenant-colonel before I was thirty. Those were full and strenuous
days, obliterating many useless longings and foiled ambitions, curing
many fancied ills, and giving thousands of us a chance to start life all
over again. I know they kept me, for one, entirely preoccupied and,
except towards the end, healthy and happy.

But I never quite forgot Barbara Chatterton,[Pg 77] especially when I was
elated or miserable; and one requires a confidant in either
case—especially the former. And here she was, after nearly ten years,
wife and widow since last we met, composedly consorting with me on
Bertolini's terrace, hardly changed, except for a certain added
regality, almost divinity, of presence.

II

We had already talked for an hour, during which I had furnished Barbara
with a concise history of my life since our parting, and Barbara had
told me as much of hers as she deemed suitable for my ears. We leaned
back in our seats, and smiled upon one another in our old friendly,
understanding fashion. Then Barbara rose lazily to her feet.

'Oughtn't we to go on board your yacht, Leslie?' she asked.

'God forbid!' I replied.

Barbara sat down again.

'Tell me!' she commanded.

I told her—for the space of another half-hour. I felt better when I had
finished, better than I had felt for weeks. Barbara put her head on one
side, in an attitude I knew well, and smiled at me.

'It's my nature, I suppose. It's a complex or an inhibition, or
something of that kind.'

'Forgive a country cousin,' said Barbara; 'but what are they—those
things you mentioned?'

'I haven't the slightest idea; but according to Mrs. Dunham-Massey and
Gwen all the best people have them nowadays. You simply don't get
invited anywhere in London unless you have at least one of each. They
put "Complexes and Inhibitions" in the corner of the invitation card
now, I'm told.'

'But what are they, my dear?'

'As far as I can make out, they are impulses that make people unhappy,
or cowardly, or mopey, or shy.'

'New names for old things. What's the[Pg 79] difference between a complex and
an inhibition?'

'There you rather have me. But, roughly speaking, a complex ties you all
up into mental knots, and makes you believe something unpleasant to be
true when you know it isn't: while an inhibition is a conviction that
you simply can't do a certain thing—like going down into the Tube, or
crossing a road, or accosting a stranger in the street.'

'My dear, where did you acquire all this learning?'

'Mrs. Dunham-Massey told me about the complex. Because I said to her
last night that I loathed being compelled to dress up like a Christmas
tree and dance the morris-dance with Jubberley, she said that I was
suffering from an inferiority complex, which made me defer against my
will to the wishes of other people.'

'Well, perhaps she was right. Go on. What about the inhibition?'

'I got that from Gwen Gowlland. After dinner we were playing some
idiotic game of forfeits, and I was sentenced to kiss the person I loved
best. Ye gods, what an evening!'

'I declined to kiss anybody. At least, I didn't decline: that was just
it! I merely looked several kinds of idiot, and mumbled something about
not doing that sort of thing in public. So George Bumpstead said he
would deputise for me, and got up and kissed Gwen Gowlland on the left
ear.'

'How did Gwen Gowlland take it?'

'Oh, she was the picture of innocent reproach and maidenly distress, as
usual. She was very pathetic with me about it afterwards.'

'What did she say?'

'She said she was the one who had to suffer for my inhibitions. That's
how I know what inhibitions are. On the whole, I'm rather glad I've got
them!'

Barbara regarded me whimsically.

'Are you quite sure, Leslie?'

'I loathe the sight of the girl,' I said.

'Well, twenty-four hours on the yacht will show me whether you are
speaking the truth or not; but for the present I'm not at all sure. I
know men! Reverting to the yacht, isn't it time I went on board now and
reported myself to our little admiral?'

'He's not there: nobody's there. Most of the gang have gone up
Vesuvius—and I hope they all fall down the crater!'

'Bless you, no! I wouldn't hurt a hair of her head, although I don't
think she would be so particular about mine. I'm sorry to say we had a
little tiff yesterday. She asked me to shake her a cocktail at ten
o'clock in the morning, and I declined.'

'Quite right too, Leslie.'

'Yes; but it was the way I said it. Some men could have jollied her out
of the idea: all I did was to give her the impression that I was an old
woman. She as good as called me one, and got some one else to shake the
cocktail. She's ashore now, with Jimmy.'

'Is that quite safe?' There was a touch of real anxiety in Barbara's
voice.

'It ought to be. Jimmy has a revolver on his hip, and an aluminium
knuckle-duster in his left-hand jacket pocket. He tells me he always
goes ashore "heeled" in foreign ports: one never knows what may not
happen to an adventurous Englishman abroad. I believe he does it when he
goes to the opera in Paris. Lila was so thrilled at the prospect of
running about under armed escort that she cancelled her engagement with
me to come and find you. I can't say I pressed her very much.'

'It wasn't that. I wanted you all to myself. I wanted to take you to
Pompeii—a private party of our two selves. "Pompeii for two, and two
for Pompeii," so to speak.'

'You are getting over your inhibitions nicely,' observed Barbara.

'I never had any, my dear, where you were concerned.'

Barbara looked at me oddly.

'Hadn't you?' she said.

III

We lunched in a little wooden restaurant just outside the Porta di Nola,
where two smiling local brigands sang softly to the guitar as we
manipulated our spaghetti. After that, repulsing guides, I conducted
Barbara round Pompeii. I had been there before: antiquity has always
fascinated me, ever since certain days of my boyhood spent in grubbing
round the Emperor Hadrian's Wall across England during a summer in
Northumbria.

We strolled down the long, trench-like, stone-paved streets, scored deep
with the parallel ruts of iron chariot wheels, speculating as to what
used to happen when two chariots met, for they certainly could not have
passed one[Pg 83] another. We noted the high stepping-stones crossing
periodically from curb to curb; and Barbara observed, with truth, that
the Pompeian ladies must have found them invaluable in wet weather.

We wandered through one of the best preserved of the houses—I think it
was the House of Pansa. Barbara was disappointed because only the first
storey was left.

'What has become of the upper floors?' she asked. 'I always think the
upstairs of houses are so much more interesting than the downstairs: the
rooms there are more off their guard, if you know what I mean.'

'If it hadn't been for Vesuvius,' I replied, 'there wouldn't have been
any ground floor either. The eruption buried all the houses in this town
right up to the first-floor windows—packed them in pumice-stone with a
solid pie-crust of mud on the top. Only the upper parts were left
projecting. Consequently they were cleared away centuries ago. The only
part of Pompeii which survives to-day is the part which was destroyed.
It's a bit of a paradox.'

'It's very like life,' said Barbara. 'Probably if you and I are ever
remembered for anything, Leslie, it will be for something quite private
and insignificant which we once did and forgot all[Pg 84] about.' We turned a
corner. 'Hallo, what is this big place?'

'The Forum. It must have been a busy spot in the old days. Can you
picture it?'

'No, my dear: mouldering ruins were not included in my education.
Schoolgirls are more interested in their own futures than in other
people's pasts.'

'Well, I think I can. Sit down on this seat, and I'll see what I can
do.'

Barbara obediently sat down upon the warm stone, and I began. I must
have talked for quite a long time. Gradually, in my mind's eye, the
ancient stones began to resume their proper places; the ruined buildings
took shape; Pompeii lived again. I described what I saw to Barbara. I
pictured for her the Forum itself—the jostling throng, the babbling
medley of traders, marketers, and slaves; with here and there a
commotion of heads where some helmeted figure on horseback was forcing
its way, or an eddy in the human tide where men with staves clove a path
for some great lady's litter. Above all, the blue Italian sky and the
decadent glitter of Imperial Rome.

Then I halted, rather suddenly. Truth to tell, I was feeling a little
surprised at my own eloquence. We sat silent for a while.

'You're an odd person, Leslie,' said Barbara presently. 'You made this
place live again for me just now. Could you see all those things?'

'In a way, yes. Do you know, Barbara, of late I have begun to think that
I must have had a previous existence. For that matter, I believe we all
have; but in any case some one or something must have reopened the
water-tight door, or whatever it is, that shuts us off from our former
experiences. Dead cities and forgotten civilisations seem wonderfully
real to me: living—vivid——'

I turned from my contemplation of the sun-bathed Forum, and caught
Barbara's eye. She was regarding me with something very like concern. I
broke off, my self-conscious self again.

'There is more than a hobby behind this,' said Barbara. 'For
two or three minutes just now, Leslie, you were inspired. Do
these—experiences—come to you often?'

I thought.

'Not very often,' I said, 'but sometimes. I remember one, particularly.
A year ago I was[Pg 86] in Panama, passing through the Canal on my way home
from Hawaii. I had been reading a lot about Cortez and Drake and the old
days of the Spanish Main. We were given a twenty-four hours' run ashore,
and I found myself lunching with a fellow-passenger at the International
Hotel. I looked out on the streets of Panama City, with their electric
tram-cars and cinemas, and said to the old fellow—he was a
Spanish-American of some kind, in the cigar business:

'"I wonder what this place looked like in the days when it was the
rendezvous for the gold trains."

'"This is not the original Panama," he said. "You would like to see
it—yes?"

'I said I would, like a shot; and we hired a car and drove to a place on
the coast looking out over the Pacific. It was a desolate enough spot—a
square of dry beaten-out earth, perhaps two hundred yards each way, with
what looked like a derelict church tower in one corner and a few
tumble-down ruins in the other. The sea was lapping away along one side
of the square, and semi-tropical growths enclosed the other three.

'"This," said my friend, "is the ancient plaza of the city of
Panama—Old Panama—the[Pg 87] Panama of Cortez and the great days of the
Spanish conquest and occupation. It was a city of seven thousand houses,
with eight monasteries, two great churches, a governor, and a garrison.
And now—look at it!"

'Then I remembered.

'"Is this the place that Morgan destroyed?" I asked him.

'"Yes," he said, "it is. Morgan—your English Morgan!"

'"To be quite fair," I replied, "he was a Welshman."'

'Who was Morgan?' inquired Barbara.

'A pirate—one of the old buccaneers.
Blackbeard—Sawkins—L'Ollonais—you may have heard of them. Morgan was
the prize tough of the lot, but he must have been a born leader of men.
He landed at the mouth of the Chagres river, on the east side, almost
where the Panama Canal joins the Caribbean Sea to-day, and led three
thousand rapscallions across the Isthmus to attack Old Panama. Being
seafaring men, they made heavy weather of the swamps and savannahs of
the Isthmus; and, by the same token, not being accustomed to worry about
transport or commissariat, they very nearly died of starvation. They
lived on cats and dogs and bits of leather, or anything which the[Pg 88]
Spaniards and Indians had left behind in their flight; and they took
nine days to cover sixty miles. But they got to Old Panama, famished and
rampageous, and they captured it from the Spaniards in fair fight. Then,
finding that the best part of the loot had been carried away, or shipped
off over the horizon, Morgan turned nasty—or rather, nastier than
usual—and burned the place down, to the last hut. He did the job
thoroughly: he took three weeks over it, and the result of his labour
abides to this day.

'I had read the story as a boy, and now that I found myself standing on
the very spot where it had happened, the whole thing came back to
me—every detail, and more. Something took possession of me. I did not
merely recall things: I began to see things—things that I could never
have read about. The whole place came to life. I found myself standing
in the middle of the great plaza, as it had been three hundred years
ago. There was a stone terrace along the water-front, with steps running
down to the little blue waves, and people stepping in and out of
boats—Dons in steel cuirasses and steel hats with brims to them; and
Spanish ladies in lace mantillas, with black hair and high combs; and
Genoese traders, and priests, and[Pg 89] sailors, and Indian slaves. I saw
them all. They didn't simply seem to be there, Barbara; they were
there. And I lived and moved among them. All round the plaza stood the
big buildings of the city—the church of St. Anastasia, with its lofty
tower; a great monastery; the Governor's house, all built of cedar; the
King's stables; the Treasury; and out on the point, a fort. Behind all
these were the streets of the town, with poorer houses built of cane and
palm. Behind all that again stretched the Gold Road—the road along
which the pack-mules carried the bullion back across the Isthmus to the
Atlantic side, to be shipped to Spain.

'Just behind the town, leading away inland, is an old road-bridge—a
single arch spanning a stream. Probably more gold has crossed that
bridge than any other bridge in the world. I turned and walked towards
it, pushing my way out of the crowded plaza. When I reached it, I came
suddenly to myself. There was no gold-train, no guards, no muleteers—-
just the ruins of a tumble-down bridge crossing a narrow gully, and all
round me the dusty and desolate savannah.

'I must have said something, for at this point the cigar merchant
asserted himself.

'"My friend," he said, "you come back[Pg 90] with me now, to a shady spot. You
have stand too long in the sun." Then he packed me into our Ford—think
of it! a rattling, reeking Ford in Old Panama—and drove me back to the
hotel, where he gave me two heavenly Trinidad cocktails, and then
bundled me on board ship.'

'The old gentleman was very sensible,' said Barbara approvingly. 'But,
Leslie, what a queer adventure! Were you all right afterwards?'

'As right as rain; but I had very much the same feeling afterwards as I
have now, sitting here in this old Forum. A sort of mental exaltation—a
slightly tipsy sensation.'

'I wonder if you are psychic, or whatever the word is,' said Barbara.

'I think the explanation is a bit more prosaic than that. I should call
the whole affair a by-product of shell-shock. I never had these gifts
before the war—this vivid power of picturing things. You may recollect
that in the early days of our acquaintance imagination was not my long
suit.'

'You were the most matter-of-fact creature that ever breathed,' said
Barbara candidly. 'How you used to exasperate me sometimes! I remember
once, when I was about sixteen,[Pg 91] pointing out to you a tall church
spire, black against a white sky, and asking you if you didn't think
that it looked like the opening of the tent door of heaven. And you said
it looked more like the fifth proposition of Euclid. I could have
slapped you!'

'I expect you did,' I replied. 'Still, it's true I had very little
imagination—the imagination that enables one to picture things. I
remember reading Puck of Pook's Hill when we spent that summer near
Hexham, sitting on the ruins of the wall itself, and trying and trying
to bring to life all Kipling's characters—Parnesius, and Pertinax, and
Maximus, and the Pict, and all those—you remember?'

'Do I not?' murmured Barbara ecstatically. We had read the book
together.

'But I could never recreate the Wall as I recreated Old Panama. My
faculties have ripened a bit since then.'

I smiled; but Barbara shook her head.

'Leslie,' she said, 'I am not happy about you. You aren't a bit well. I
expect it's this shell-shock business, too, that makes you so sensitive
and irritable with these tiresome people on the yacht. If it weren't for
that, I think I should give you a scolding for behaving like a baby
towards them.'

'Never mind about them just now. How is your general health? Do you
sleep well?'

'I dream a bit.'

'What about?'

'Various things.'

'Pleasant?'

'Some of them. One vision in particular—and a fairly regular one too!'

Barbara was pleasantly intrigued.

'Tell me!' she said, edging a little closer, in a manner reminiscent of
the days when she used to cherish designs on half my apple.

But the time for confidences was gone. Round the corner of the Temple of
Apollo appeared a pair of all too familiar figures—Sir James Rumborough
and Mrs. Dunham-Massey. They were followed by George Bumpstead and Gwen.
All four saw us and bore down upon us, and in the welter of greeting,
introduction, and reproof which followed—remember, Barbara had mixed up
Naples and Algiers—such thistledown things as dreams and visions
vanished shudderingly into space. Vesuvius had had its chance, and had
let it go.

The Cave

I

I had little opportunity to discuss my psychic possibilities any further
with Barbara, because in the log-book of the steam-yacht Virginia the
word privacy was unknown. In the operation of the disgusting blend of
grandmotherly government and mob law which obtained upon that accursed
vessel, one was expected to conform to the general movements of the
herd, within very definite limits: that is to say, we were assigned to
some particular form of recreation in company with associates appointed
by Sir James and Lady Rumborough, and in all cases we were doomed to
perform these exercises within sight and hearing of every one else.

Out of consideration for Barbara, I forsook my solitary perch upon the
roof of the chart-house, and meekly submitted to the full rigour of
ship's discipline. In the course of a single day I bowed my neck to a
thousand indignities. I endured a homily from my host upon the
imperative necessity of my being dressed and[Pg 94] out of my cabin by
nine-thirty a.m.: apparently it was his absurd custom to 'inspect ship'
every morning at ten o'clock, by which hour every suit of pyjamas had to
be folded and every dressing-gown hung upon its appointed hook. I danced
the foxtrot with Lila, at her own imperious invitation, which carried
with it a tacit understanding that the unpleasantness over the cocktail
was at an end. In this I traced the hand of Lila's elder sister. Off
Malta I listened for forty minutes to Jubberley on the Knights of the
Order of St. John and Jerusalem, with the history of which body he had
been priming himself sufficiently thoroughly to be able to misquote it
with great fluency. I played deck-quoits in partnership with Gwen, who
played indifferently, against Mr. Podmore, who could not play at all,
and Arabella Hockley, who cheated whenever an opportunity arose. I
engaged, blindfolded and in public, in a humiliating pastime known as
'Are You There?' consisting, for me, mainly in being belaboured over the
head by George Bumpstead with a rolled-up newspaper. I played a rubber
of bridge with Lady Rumborough as partner, and I enjoyed a tête-à-tête
of one hour with Mrs. Dunham-Massey.

That delightful woman was profoundly inter[Pg 95]ested in Barbara—especially
Barbara's previous history-sheet. Having entirely failed to elicit from
Barbara herself any detail of that intriguing document, and having
equally failed to get any change out of Barbara's little sister, she
fastened on me.

'I had no idea you and Mrs. Hatton were old friends,' she began. 'Has it
been going on for long?'

Instead of throwing her overboard, I replied uneasily:

'We used to know one another as children, and all that.'

'As children—ah!' replied Mrs. Dunham-Massey, with obvious
satisfaction. 'Then she is older than she looks. I thought so!
Twenty-eight?' she hazarded hopefully.

'I don't know.'

'But, my dear, you must know. Of course, it's chivalrous of you not to
tell, but you can trust me. After all, I'm just a sort of auntie to the
dear people on this yacht—old and wrinkled, with an honest, ugly face.
I know that's how you all feel about me, isn't it?'

'Oh, how caustic you are! I'm getting just a little bit frightened of
you. But I suppose you knew her well in her early married days?'

'No. I wasn't there; I wasn't even at the wedding. She married and went
to India almost at once. I never saw her husband.'

Mrs. Dunham-Massey regarded me almost benignly.

'That sounds like a frustrated romance,' she said. 'Tell me more about
it. Lots of people confide in me: I can't think why. It seems to bring
them relief.'

'You're barking up the wrong tree,' I said, with what civility I had
left.

Mrs. Dunham-Massey's manner changed at once.

'Please, please, don't think I am asking for information!' she pled.
'Heaven knows, I[Pg 97] receive enough confidences without having to grub for
them! You don't understand me yet, I can see. Mrs. Hatton is such a
sweet woman that one can't help being interested in her a tiny
bit—that's all. Even you are, I can see—in spite of Gwen.' She shook a
finger at me. 'Poor little Gwennie! You've been neglecting her of late,
you know; and the child is feeling it.' (Gwen, at a generous estimate,
is twenty-seven.) 'Don't, please, be angry with me for speaking like
this. It makes me feel so awkward and embarrassed to have to do it, but
really, some one had to; so I took my courage in both hands, and—well,
I've done it!' Mrs. Dunham-Massey smiled, with misty eyes, and
continued:

'Mrs. Hatton's husband died of drink, didn't he?'

'No, he didn't!' I was turkey-red by this time.

'I thought you said you never knew him.'

'No—but I knew about him.'

'If you knew about him you must have known some rather dreadful things,
by all accounts. But, of course, men always screen one another.... Oh,
if only young girls could be warned against being in too great a hurry!
If only there were some one to tell us! But there[Pg 98] never is!' Mrs.
Dunham-Massey registered emotion.

I was tolerably certain that this last innuendo—this direct suggestion
that in her innocent youth she herself had been mated, all unsuspecting,
with a heartless roué—was an outrageous slur upon the memory of the
late lamented Dunham-Massey. A scrap of conversation between Lila and
Gwen drifted back into my memory, Lila speaking:

'He was a profiteer from Bradford, my dear—army blankets, or something
like that—and she grabbed him just after the War, before he could spend
any of it. He stepped under a motor-'bus two years later, with an eager
smile on his face.'

Well, the story may not have been true, but it seemed eminently
reasonable.

By this time Mrs. Dunham-Massey had recovered herself.

'Poor Mrs. Hatton!' she said. 'Still, she is comparatively young:
perhaps some good man will make her happy yet. George Bumpstead seemed
quite attracted by her at dinner last night, didn't you think? Of
course, she is one of those women who makes herself attractive to every
man she meets. Probably she can't help it: something in the blood.[Pg 99] But
we needn't talk about her any more: I have performed my little task, and
I'm glad. You'll forgive me for being so terribly aboveboard, won't you?
Now, run off and find Gwen, you faithless man, and atone for
everything!'

I seized this opportunity of escape—and retired to bed, at nine o'clock
in the evening.

II

The consequence was that I awoke next morning at five.

I went on deck. It was a cool dawn, with a promise of heat to come.
Patches of mist lay here and there upon the calm water. The deck of the
yacht was mercifully clear of passengers, but up on the little bridge
stood the captain, with binoculars to his eyes, occasionally letting
fall a word of direction to the man at the wheel.

Presently he lowered the glasses, and caught sight of me.

'Good morning, sir!' he cried. 'Will you come up?'

I mounted beside him, and looked about me.

We were in a great bay, or bight, more than half surrounded by a hilly
coast. Right ahead[Pg 100] of us, three miles or so, I could distinguish some
white houses on the shore; beyond that, in a break in the hills, a
distant shimmering, which I took to be a lake.

'Where are we?' I asked.

'In the Gulf of Tunis, sir. That's Goletta over there'—pointing to the
cluster of buildings—'the front-door of Tunis, so to speak. Tunis
itself lies at the head of that lake beyond. You can't see it from here:
it's another six miles. The lake is salt, not much more than a marsh,
with a biggish canal running through it. The canal is banked on each
side, which makes two lakes, really. You can travel along one bank on a
tram right up from Goletta to the town.'

'And where is Carthage?' I had been interested in Carthage ever since I
had been old enough to be a hero-worshipper.

The captain pointed to a hill on our right front, a few miles along the
coast from Goletta.

'Carthage used to be somewhere about there, by all accounts,' he said;
'but there's nothing to see now. It's been off the map for a long time.'

I surveyed the eminence which marked the site of the ancient city. It
was not much of[Pg 101] an eminence: in Scotland they would have described it
as a 'law.'

'The Byrsa, I suppose?' I asked.

'I expect you're right,' assented the captain politely.

The Byrsa and the strip of coast at its base were covered thickly with
buildings. Along the beach below ran a row of white dots, which looked
suspiciously like bathing-boxes. Further to our right the coast swept
round to a lofty headland, crowned by a lighthouse.

'Is that Cape Carthage?' I asked.

'I believe it has an Arabic name now, sir—Sidi-Bou-Said, or something
like that.'

'Are we going right up to Goletta?'

'I'm not sure that we can. The chart doesn't give us too much water
here, except across the Gulf to our left, Korbous way. Most of the
mail-steamers lie outside, and use a tender.'

'I see.' I fell into a muse, pondering upon the turns of fate which may
alter the fortunes of a city, as of a man. In the days of
shallow-draught galleys this great bight must have been a haven indeed.
But now Tunis, once the most thriving piratical port in the
Mediterranean, lay high and dry; and its outpost[Pg 102] Goletta, though right
on the beach, was almost high and dry too.

I diverted my attention to Carthage—or rather, to the place where
Carthage had once towered, mistress and arbitress of the Mediterranean
and the ancient world. Truth to tell, I was a little shocked by the
spectacle. Stark desolation—Carthago deleta—I was prepared for, but
not this pretty-prettiness of Moorish villas and French bathing-huts, as
I could now see they were. My gaze travelled disconsolately along until
it reached Sidi-Bou-Said, covered with flat-topped houses and an
occasional mosque; but I noted that in the increasing daylight more
coast-line was now visible beyond—a clean virgin sweep of rocky shore,
backed by towering red sandstone bluffs. This was better: it was more in
accordance with my preconceived idea of the mysterious and romantic
coast of Africa—the Africa from which, according to tradition,
something new could always confidently be expected. I must explore that
distant shore.

The engine telegraph bells jangled, the engines stopped and reversed,
and the cable rattled out. I descended to my cabin for early tea and a
shave, excogitating in my mind ways and means whereby I might escape
ashore for[Pg 103] the day, preferably with Barbara, but in any case without
any one else.

III

As so often happens, I had to be content with half a loaf: that is to
say, I went ashore with Barbara, Jubberley, and our host and hostess; or
rather, we all went ashore in a body, but Barbara and I failed to elude
the above-mentioned trio upon landing. Jimmy, Lila, George Bumpstead,
and Gwen departed by electric tram along the causeway across the lake to
Tunis. Mr. Podmore set off at a brisk walk along the dusty coast-road in
the direction of Carthage, under the shade of a white umbrella, followed
by the offscourings of Goletta clamouring for baksheesh. Evidently
they regarded him as the easiest thing in the party. Little they knew
their man: I bet myself a silent half-crown that by sunset he would have
dragooned them into a morris-dance. Tagging along amid his howling
retinue I observed the uncouth figure of Arabella Hockley, clad in her
inevitable Aquascutum, and grasping a fishing-rod and a noisome tin can
which I knew well, and which I knew she hoped to bring back replenished
with bait.

'She'll write a lot, I expect,' Lady Rumborough confided to me, in
trumpet tones. 'She doesn't often get such a good address to write
from.'

The electric tram went rocking and whizzing away along the causeway
towards Tunis, and our quintette were left alone to battle with guides,
vendors of postcards, and such touts and beggars as Podmore and Arabella
had not drawn after them. At the solicitation of a patriarchal old
gentleman with a snub nose and a flowing white beard, in a snowy
burnous, red tarboosh, no socks, and ammunition boots, we decided to
drive to Carthage and back in a dilapidated Panhard car.

'Baedeker,' announced Sir James, consulting the impassioned work in
question, 'says that good carriages are to be had at Goletta at two
francs per hour; but advises that the fare should be arranged
beforehand. A very proper precaution. Let me see: two hours should give
us ample time to lunch at Carthage, look round, and return. I will offer
this man five francs.' He cleared his throat. 'Er—cocher! Doozoor!
Combien?'

(2) That since it was written there had been a war, which had increased
standards of living and affected the rate of exchange.

(3) That a 'carriage' is not a motor-car.

(4) That if we did not pay the hundred francs we should probably have to
walk to Carthage, followed by disappointed mendicants throwing imported
antiquities at us.

We packed ourselves into the car at length, Jubberley firmly wedged
between Barbara and Lady Rumborough on the back seat, with Sir James and
myself poised uncertainly upon two auxiliary perches resembling large
toadstools, and about as secure. The front seat was occupied by our
cicerone, whom I had by this time christened Melchizedek—I seemed to
remember a high priest of that name—and his chauffeur, a young man of
purely criminal cast of countenance. The latter was a native, we
presently learned, of the Belgian Congo—and probably a deportee into
the bargain.

I will say one thing for French cars: they can go. The sorriest taxis in
Paris—even the one-cylinder Renaults which are reputed to[Pg 106] have turned
the tide at the Marne by conveying an army corps from the Place de la
Concorde to the field of battle—can hit a pace to-day quite sufficient
to keep one's heart in one's mouth for the whole length of the Champs
Elysées. Our present conveyance, although its body was battered, its
mudguards buckled, and every joint in its anatomy shrieking in mortal
pain, made it evident from the start that in one respect Lutetia can
teach Tunisia nothing.

The retired assassin at the wheel proved, as I had expected, to be
entirely without bowels. He whirled round corners, over bumps, and
through pot-holes as if Satan were after him—as indeed Satan probably
was. He scattered dogs, children, donkeys, and poultry with
dispassionate ferocity. His aged employer, who was obviously enjoying
the outing more than all the rest of the party put together, sat round
in his seat, steadying himself by holding one arm firmly round my neck,
thus keeping the other free to point out objects of local and historical
interest.

'That the house of Bey of Tunis. Very nice man. Dead twenty years'—is a
fair sample.

After a quarter of an hour of nightmare progress through stucco villa
colonies and[Pg 107] squalid hamlets, we found ourselves at the foot of the
hill which I had identified from the sea as the Byrsa: it ran up steeply
from the edge of the road. Without any warning whatsoever our charioteer
suddenly swung to the left and charged it. When the force of the impact
began to die away, he changed down into a shrieking low gear and fell to
crawling.

Presently the car drew up, with an expiring sigh, before an
unpretentious shanty of wood, decorated by a notice-board which promised
us 'Bacon-egg, cocoa, and old Scotch Wisky.'

We entered; and declining these imported dainties, lunched very
tolerably upon domestic dishes and the wine of the country. I caught a
glimpse of Melchizedek and his accomplice making a gargantuan meal
behind a screen, and wondered whether it was included in the 'eleventeen
bob.' I thought not.

Finally we sat out upon a terrace backed by ornamental villas reared
upon the ancient rubble of Carthage, smoking, and looking down upon what
had once been the greatest naval base in the world. All we saw now was a
third-rate[Pg 108] French watering-place, with Islamic trimmings. The late
residence of that very nice man, the deceased Bey of Tunis—if it had
been his residence, which I took leave to doubt—was the most
conspicuous building. On our left the headland of Sidi-Bou-Said was
thickly covered with the houses and mosques of a prosperous Arab suburb.

Inevitably, I began to picture the scene as it must have been—the
swarming quays, the noisy dockyards, the arsenal, the baths, the
granaries, the great aqueduct running down from the hills, and the
Temple of Moloch standing on this very citadel, with its horrid rites
and unspeakable sacrifices.

'Come back, Leslie!' said a serene voice in my ear. It was Barbara
speaking.

'Hannibal. Just about the finest soldier that ever lived, in my humble
opinion.'

'I thought it would be a soldier!' smiled Barbara. 'What did he do?'

'He set out from Carthage with an army and[Pg 109] fleet to conquer Rome, in
the days when Rome was really great. He started from the water-front,
right down there at our feet, and sailed to Spain, which was a Roman
province in those days. He began by capturing the principal fortress,
Saguntum, and then marched over the Pyrenees and along the Riviera. He
fought his way across the Rhone into Gaul; then he crossed the Alps—the
Alps!—with all his transport and forty elephants, and came storming
down into Northern Italy. He only had half his army left by that time,
but nothing could shake him. He pulled his mercenaries together, and
beat the Romans in three pitched battles, and then settled down to
conquer Italy. But he never conquered Italy, and he never captured Rome.
If he had, the history of the world would have been changed, and you and
I might have been sacrificing to Moloch on Sunday mornings instead of
dropping three-penny-bits into an offertory bag.'

These superfluous reflections were here cut short by the intervention of
Melchizedek, recalled to a sense of duty by the fact that he had
finished all there was to eat. Once more he stood before us,
indefatigable and affectionate.

'I take you now,' he announced, 'to Arab[Pg 110] village. Harem for mesdames:
light'ouse for messieurs. Five franc.'

Sir James looked up from Baedeker, reprovingly.

'We have other plans,' he said. 'We have one hour at our disposal. We
will devote half of that time to the ruins of Carthage, and the other
half to the Musée Lavigerie, where I gather that the yield of the
excavations is preserved. Where is the Musée?'

'Right here,' replied the old gentleman, who apparently spoke every
language, pointing to an adjacent building. 'In Grand Séminaire. I take
you now. Five franc.'

There was a general uprising.

'We must exercise a certain caution,' continued Sir James, still quoting
from Baedeker, 'when we visit the ruins: they abound in awkward cavities
and fissures, and scorpions lurk under loose stones. However, we will
see the Museum first. We can leave the car here.'

Sir James, Lady Rumborough, and Jubberley turned to follow our guide. My
own gaze drifted longingly down towards the shore, to where an electric
tram was gliding westward—away from Carthage and stuccofied
civilisation. My eye caught Barbara's, questioningly. She nodded. We
stood stock-still, waiting till our[Pg 111] host and hostess had turned the
corner and the chantings of Melchizedek had died away. Then we tiptoed
off in the opposite direction, past the stertorous carcass of our
chauffeur slumbering in the car, and sped down the hill towards the
beach.

Half an hour later we alighted at the terminus of the electric
railway—a desolate waste of sand-dunes, dotted with a few forlorn
bungalows and summer cafés. The surrounding territory was a waste of
wire fences and notice-boards which announced that the propriété was
privé, and that it was 'defended to circulate' there. Presently we
shook off these shackles of the capitalistic system, and found ourselves
upon a great stretch of sandy, rocky beach, backed by red bluffs and
running westward towards a distant headland. Sidi-Bou-Said was well
behind now, and we were alone: the only human being in sight was a
Maltese fisherman, broiling three apparently live fish over a small fire
of sticks under the shelter of a rock. Presently he too dropped out of
sight.

'Would you mind if I took off my shoes and stockings?' Barbara asked,
after we had walked a mile or so.

We sat on a rock and dabbled our toes in the water, like two children.

'This is more like the Carthaginian coast as I had pictured it,' I said,
looking about me.

Barbara held up a warning finger.

'Remember, picturing things is verboten,' she said. 'Tell me more
about Hannibal. Why did he never conquer Italy?'

Failing, manlike, to realise that Barbara was asking this question more
to keep my imagination out of mischief than to test my historical
knowledge, I replied at some length.

'Because the skunks whom he had left behind in Carthage let him down.
They left him to fight for his life in Italy, while they went on with
their trading, and corn-chandling, and political wire-pulling, and their
fat prosperity. They never sent him a man, or a horse, or a javelin:
they left him where he was, marooned. Without reinforcements he couldn't
attack, and without ships he couldn't get home. He had lost an eye
through some kind of swamp fever, and all his elephants were dead but
one; but nothing could defeat him. For fifteen years he ranged up and
down Italy like a hungry wolf, with his tatterdemalion army at his
heels, and not a Roman dog ever dared put his nose outside his kennel
when he passed by. Fifteen years![Pg 113] What a pill for a great military
nation! Think what it would mean if we had a German army loose in
England for fifteen years to-day, calling in at Birmingham and
Manchester whenever they wanted supplies, while we sat on Sydenham Hill
wishing they would go away! What a pill for imperial England! Fifteen
years! Stout fellow!'

'Where was his wife all this time?' asked Barbara, characteristically.
'I suppose he had one.'

'Yes, I expect he had one; but I don't remember her name.'

'Wasn't it Dido?'

'Oh no. Dido was a much earlier vintage. She was the foundress of
Carthage. She came from Phœnicia—Tyre, I think. She is chiefly known to
fame for her affair with Æneas, who dropped in, upon his wanderings
after the fall of Troy, and stayed for a year or two. I suppose he found
her a bit of a bore in the end; for he suddenly developed a premonition
that he had to go to Italy to found a city there—Rome, in fact—and he
left Carthage without saying good-bye.'

'And what did Dido do then, poor thing?'

'She watched his ship out of sight, from that cape over there where the
lighthouse is now;[Pg 114] then went home, made a bonfire of all her palace
furniture, and laid herself on the top. My Vergil's a bit rusty, but I
think that's how she ended.'

'Poor soul!'

'I wouldn't waste much sympathy on her, if I were you. I expect she was
a bit of a dragon; and in any case I don't really think she ever
existed.'

'I can't help feeling that she did,' said Barbara. 'She sounds a very
real sort of person.'

At this moment a clump of seaweed, attached to a stone, and thrown with
considerable force, landed squarely in the back of my neck. Arabella
Hockley, who, for all her clumsiness, could move remarkably softly when
she liked, was standing behind us, grinning complacently.

We turned and looked. Mr. Podmore was[Pg 115] visible, making his way down from
the rocks above the beach. Presently he joined us, in a flutter of mild
excitement.

'We have discovered a most remarkable cavern,' he announced; 'remarkable
because, although I imagine its existence must be known to the
inhabitants, it exhibits no signs of present occupation or use.'

'Perhaps the people prefer to live in houses,' suggested practical
Barbara, drying her feet with my handkerchief.

'Your surmise is probably correct,' said Mr. Podmore. 'Although some of
the earliest cave-dwellers in history lived in this district and in the
mountains behind—the original Troglodytes, in fact—their more
civilised descendants would naturally prefer the comforts of a modern
dwelling. On the other hand, it seems strange that such a commodious
cave as this should not be put to practical use. Its present isolation
must be due to some local superstition—some form of tabu. The thought
is intriguing: I should like to explore it further.'

'Carried unanimously!' I replied; and we followed Mr. Podmore up the
beach.

IV

The entrance to the cave gave no hint of the size of the interior, being
merely a perpendicular cleft in a cliff, with an apparent depth of a few
yards. But if, having penetrated thus far, you squeezed round to your
right and then round to your left again, you found yourself in a great
rocky chamber, floored with clean white sand, and lit by openings which
pierced the lofty walls.

The shape was roughly semicircular. From the flat wall opposite the
entrance which formed the chord of the arc, a platform of rock, perhaps
six feet high, jutted out some ten feet or so. Before this, in the sandy
floor, lay a low, flat rectangular slab of stone, about the size of an
ordinary bed. Over the entrance to the cave projected a broad ledge,
with an opening behind it commanding a view of the beach. This ledge was
reached by a natural staircase of rock.

The atmosphere was clean and fresh, and shafts of light from the
afternoon sun penetrated the slits in the western wall, illuminating[Pg 117]
the rocky face above the platform with vivid yellow patches. At the back
of the platform an arched opening led to some inner chamber of the cave.
There were other openings round the walls, leading presumably to similar
chambers.

Of course, I did not take in all these details at once. I had ample
opportunity for studying them later. It is sufficient to say here that
the mere revelation of the existence of this spacious and perfectly
proportioned cavern (which had plainly been extended and improved by the
hand of some long-forgotten architect) was in itself a sufficiently
surprising and improbable adventure, even upon the mysterious and
romantic shores of Northern Africa.

Little though we suspected it, the cave was destined to be the scene for
us of adventures more surprising and more improbable still.

Meanwhile, Barbara expressed the opinion that it would be a lovely place
for a picnic.

'Oh, I meant the whole bunch: I should be bored stiff with Jimmy alone.
By the way, I clicked with a perfectly adorable Frenchman.'

'Where, dear?'

'In Tunis. We were looking for a place to sit down and have an
apéritif before lunch, and we found what we wanted in the Boulevard
Jules Ferry. It was the usual thing, with a striped awning and little
tables out on the pavement, only quite too wonderfully chic-looking.
Everything clean and new: there were officers in uniform sitting about,
too. We four sat down: nobody took the slightest notice of us. George,
of course, began to bluster and bang on the table; but that didn't do
any good. Then I spotted that the waiters were all in uniform too, and
suddenly I felt a clammy feeling up my spine. Something told me to look
round, and I did. My dear, there on the wall was a brass plate, which
said, "Cercle Militaire"! I nearly swooned. I whispered to the others to
crawl out on all-fours. We had nearly done it, when a perfectly adorable
young officer got up from his little table, and saluted, and asked us to
be his guests. George, of course, looked perfectly blah, and Jimmy
turned puce all over; but Gwen Gowlland and I said we would be charmed;
so[Pg 120] he gave us a grenadine. He had the longest eyelashes I ever saw.'

'What were his regiment and rank?' I inquired.

'I don't know. His moustache——'

'What was he wearing on his head?'

'Let me think. A lovely red plush kepi, with gold lines round it.'

'How many?'

'Two. What does that mean?'

'A doctor—lieutenant.'

Lila made a face.

'And I thought he was a battle-scarred veteran of the Foreign Legion at
least,' she said. 'It's a gloat for Jimmy. Never mind! Then we went for
a drive round La Marsa, or whatever the place is called. We were shown
over somebody's stables. My dears, you never saw such a collection of
carriages! There was an old victoria, and a governess-cart, and a
perambulator—and a hearse! Think of the coachman getting his orders in
the morning! "James, send round the governess-cart and pram at ten, for
the children. And James, master's looking a bit chippy this morning:
send round the hearse about eleven, on the off chance." Now, you two had
better go and report yourselves, and get it over. Hallo, here[Pg 121] is Jimmy.
Jimmy, have you fixed up the séance?'

'Yes, in the after-saloon, about ten o'clock this evening. The Podmore
person is arranging chairs now, madly excited. Oh, I forgot, I'm not
talking to you, Lila.'

'It's all right, Jimmy dear. He was only the regimental Pill, after all,
so you needn't have been so madly jealous. Don't sulk any more. Give me
a smile, and I'll let you walk round the deck with me.'

She took the arm of the brooding James, and the pair passed out of
sight, still wrangling. Barbara looked after them.

'Heaven bless you both, my dears,' she said, with a little sigh, 'and
give you sense! What was that about a séance, Leslie?'

'I fancy Podmore is going to break out in a fresh place,' I replied.
'This spiritualistic entertainment has been threatening for some time.'

'Well, something tells me that neither you nor I will be present: we are
going to be sent to bed without our supper. Come along and kiss the rod.
"The sooner it's over the sooner to sleep"!'

We got off surprisingly lightly. What our judges required, we soon
discovered, was not[Pg 122] so much a criminal as an audience. Judges do not
seem to vary much as a class.

'Your absence, Colonel Miles,' announced Jubberley, who surpassed all
the others in the insistence with which he treated me as honorary unpaid
courier to the expedition, 'was responsible for a regrettable
contretemps this evening, just before we re-embarked.'

'I'm sorry. What happened?'

'There was a fracas on the quay at Goletta——'

'Was that dear old gentleman mixed up in it?' asked Barbara.

'The elderly native?'

'Yes.'

'He was. Sir James paid him the hundred francs, with a most handsome
pourboire, in addition, of ten francs——'

'You will have to pay your share of that, you know,' interpolated Lady
Rumborough at this point, 'even if you did slip away.'

'A deplorable scene then took place,' resumed Jubberley. 'The man you
refer to handed the ten francs to the driver of the car, and hurriedly
thrust the hundred-franc note down the inside of his own——that is, he
concealed it about his person. The driver of the car, observing this,
emitted a piercing yell, apparently of protest,[Pg 123] and committed a violent
assault upon his companion. They actually rolled upon the ground, biting
and scratching one another, and employing language which fortunately we
were unable to understand.'

Here Sir James cut in.

'Needless to say,' he complained, 'the police were nowhere to be found.
So different from our own well-ordered——'

'Ultimately,' announced Jubberley, getting the inside berth again, 'a
gendarme arrived, just as we were beginning to entertain serious fears
for the elder man.'

'He had got his head pushed through the spokes,' explained Lady
Rumborough, with her usual lucidity.

'He separated them,' continued her husband, 'and we held a brief
inquiry—so far as any one could in the middle of the large mob which
had now assembled. Then the truth came out. The old man was not the
owner of the car at all: he was nothing more than an intruder—a mere
excrescence, in fact——'

'An audacious impostor,' added Jubberley, summing up. 'To-morrow I shall
lodge a formal complaint with the British Vice-Consul at Tunis.'

'To the man who was driving it, of course. The other man had attached
himself to the party quite uninvited. In the end we succeeded, with
considerable difficulty, owing to the absence of our official
interpreter'—here Sir James favoured me with a vinegary smile—'in
compelling him to disgorge; and the money was distributed in a more
equitable manner.'

'How did the old gentleman like that?' asked Barbara.

'When we left him he was literally weeping with rage, and threatening to
follow us on board. He will certainly be waiting for us when we land
to-morrow: I am afraid there will be another most unpleasant scene. You
see, Colonel Miles——'

'I've got a plan to suggest,' said Barbara, 'which will make everything
all right. We've discovered a deserted strip of sandy beach much further
along the coast, right under some tall cliffs, and a really beautiful
cave, where we might picnic to-morrow. Why not land there instead?'

'What's the cave like?' inquired Lady Rumborough.

We told her.

'We'll have lunch there,' announced her[Pg 125] ladyship promptly, 'and a
rubber afterwards. I don't want to go to Tunis. All foreign towns are
alike—nothing but foreigners and smells. We'll take supper ashore too:
there's no sort of elbow-room in the saloon. Something tinned will do.
James, tell the captain to move the yacht.'

II

We dropped anchor in our new berth just as dinner ended, and came on
deck to find ourselves lying less than a mile from the beach—Barbara's
beach—which was now illuminated by a most majestic moon.

My shipmates were in a particularly obnoxious mood. I had failed, as
usual, to get next to Barbara at dinner, and had been compelled to
endure the languishings of Gwen Gowlland on one side and the faint aroma
of fish-scales which appeared to be inseparable from the person of
Arabella Hockley, even in festal attire, on the other. We had now
adjourned to the shelter of the awning on deck. The usual bridge rubber
was in progress. Sir James was drawing up to-morrow's time-table, with
the assistance of Barbara and Gwen, who had been pressed into the
service. Mr. Podmore was engaged upon his new mystery below stairs.
Arabella was laying night lines. Close[Pg 126] by, Lila was dancing with Jimmy.
To me, as the unemployed member of the party, had been allotted the task
of tending the gramophone—probably the most degrading form of human
bondage yet conceived.

'At two bells,' I heard Sir James say, as I mechanically pushed over the
needle of my instrument to enable it to reiterate the fallacious
intelligence that it was Never Going to Rain No More—'from the port
gangway. Dress, stout boots, walking-sticks, and sun-helmets: we may
feel disposed to explore the hinterland. Luncheon will be served at
eight-and-a-half bells: supper will be the subject of a subsequent
special order. In the event of the party scattering, the rendezvous will
be at the point of debarkation, not later than eight bells in the
evening watch. I shall require three copies of that, Mrs. Hatton. Kindly
post one in the after-saloon, one in the forward-lounge, and retain the
third for filing purposes.'

'Yes, Sir James,' said Barbara meekly, the corners of her mouth
twitching. I wished I possessed Barbara's faculty for extracting humour
from unlikely material.

'Now for the provision boat, Miss Gowlland. It will leave the starboard
gangway an hour sooner than the shore party, and will be in[Pg 127] charge of
the chief steward. He will take with him Colonel Miles's valet, to wait
at luncheon, thus permitting the steward himself to return on board at
once. (He checks the inventory of the plate and glass on Thursdays.) The
first hamper will contain knives, forks, spoons, and enamelled mugs for
twelve persons——'

And so on. From the bridge table came the voice of George Bumpstead, who
included among his many engaging social accomplishments the not uncommon
trick of referring to individual playing-cards by mysterious and
monotonous nicknames:

'The Curse of Scotland! Is that the best you can do, Jubberley? It's
nah-poo anyway, because I've got jolly old Mossy Face waiting for it!'
He slapped down a card, and roared with laughter. 'Why didn't you put up
The Bullet? You'd have pipped his nibs: he's a singleton.' And honest
George roared again.

Gwen caught my eye, and gave me a melting look, obviously intended to
imply that we were fellow-sufferers, and that it was up to me to create
a diversion. But I was saved the trouble: Mr. Podmore appeared on deck.

'Hallo, hallo, hallo!' he bawled. 'What are we doing, Miles, old
son—reciting? That's not the way to entertain the girls. Gwen, you come
along with me, and I'll show you. We'll go up on the bridge, and look at
the moon, and I'll make love to you; and we'll leave this young
elocutionist to talk to himself. Bye-bye, Miles.' He took Gwen's arm,
and marched her off, protesting feebly:

'George dear, don't be so rough with me!'

'You like it!' said George simply, and bore her away.

Thankful for small mercies, but unreasonably incensed at having any
woman carried off from under my guns by such a lout as George Bumpstead,
I drifted back, fuming, towards the Chinese lanterns in the stern. An
obscene shape suddenly obtruded itself between me and their soft
radiance. It was Jubberley.

'Colonel Miles,' he said, 'will you favour me with your company for five
minutes?'

Dazed by this fresh evidence of my popularity, I assented woodenly.

Jubberley conducted me to a quiet part of the deck, on the side of the
ship remote from the moon, planted me squarely in an angle between the
chart-house and a mast, cleared his[Pg 131] throat, and began. I immediately
realised the correctness of Mrs. Dunham-Massey's statement that
Jubberley stood too close to people when he talked. His finger was in my
buttonhole, and his overwarm presence seemed to envelop me.

'Perhaps, Colonel, you will not take it amiss from me, as an older man
than yourself, if I drop you a friendly hint.'

'Quite!' I answered, as amiably as I could. 'But would you mind dropping
it to-morrow, instead? I have to go below now.' And I made a futile
attempt to sidle out of my corner.

Jubberley merely crowded closer: his convex white waistcoat was now
touching mine, which was concave.

'Certainly, if you wish it. But what I have to say will not take a
moment. I was merely about to point out that in the proffering and
receipt of hospitality certain very sacred obligations rest upon both
host and guest.'

'Yes, I know. Now, do you mind if I——'

'The main duty of a host, of course, is to be—ah—hospitable.'

'How true!' With a dexterous waltzing movement I got out of my corner,
and put[Pg 132] Jubberley there. 'You express yourself most pointedly.' I took
a step back.

'That was my intention. But "pointedly" is hardly the word: one has no
desire to arouse resentment. Shall we say "bluntly"? That is a good,
honest, English——'

'Bluntly? Capital! Ha, ha—capital!' I continued to walk backwards
across the deck, but Jubberley was sticking to me as closely as a
flapper in a foxtrot.

'On the other hand,' he resumed, 'the duties—you will stop me if I
offend you?'

'All right.'

'On the other hand, the duties incumbent upon the guest are no less
sacred. In the first place, he should conform to his host's arrangements
for his entertainment, without comment or criticism; in the second, he
should associate freely with his fellow-guests——'

I was now in worse case than ever, being pinned firmly against the rail
at the side of the ship, half deafened, wholly dazed.

'In the third'—here three warm fingers tapped me in the middle of my
shirt front—'that association must be maintained upon terms of general
and undiscriminating cordiality. In other words, a guest must not
indulge in likes and dislikes! And it is for that reason[Pg 133] that I have
taken upon myself the not entirely grateful task of addressing to you a
few words of—ah—friendly remonstrance.'

I began to feel slightly hysterical. Jubberley's fat, fatuous,
glistening face was within six inches of mine. Dimly I wondered why I
did not hit it; and suddenly I realised that it was because I was a poor
creature, cursed with a fatal detachment of mind which compelled me to
see things from other people's point of view and not my own. I had just
realised that the old fellow was right, dead right. I would
apologise—or should I jump overboard? Or should I scream? I felt more
like that than anything else.

A shadow fell between us—or would have fallen if there had been room.

'Everybody is waitig for you id the salood,' announced a hoarse voice.
It was Arabella Hockley: Providence had come to my aid for a second
time, again in most improbable shape.

I wrenched myself from under my incubus, and greeted Arabella with quite
unnecessary cordiality.

'Hallo,' I cried; 'how good of you to come for me! I'm so sorry,
Jubberley. Now then, Arabella!' I almost took her arm.

We reached the head of the gangway. Arabella paused, and surveyed me
archly.

'I could tell you subthig,' she announced.

But I had received enough confidences for that night.

'We mustn't keep the others waiting,' I said. 'Come along down!'

III

The preliminaries to the séance were humdrum enough. First, Podmore
arranged us round the table, which nearly filled the small after-saloon.
He had spread a steamer rug over the skylight above our heads, to
exclude the moon. I sat between Barbara and Arabella: other students of
the occult in attendance were Jimmy, Lila, and Mrs. Dunham-Massey. Gwen
and George Bumpstead were absent, presumably communing with Nature upon
the bridge.

Our actual session was inaugurated with an address from Mr.
Podmore—earnest, comprehensive, and entirely thrown away upon his
audience, some of whom were inclined to be frivolous. It was full of
references to trance-addresses, controls, helpful vibrations, and other
equally absorbing and incomprehensible[Pg 135] matters. After he had held forth
for ten minutes or so, Jimmy Rumborough inquired:

'All right!' replied James in an injured voice. 'Do things your own
way.'

'We mean to. How shall we start, Mr. Podmore?'

'We will start,' replied Mr. Podmore, with renewed enthusiasm, 'by
endeavouring to create an atmosphere favourable to psychic vibrations. I
therefore suggest that we sit in the dark for a few minutes, with hands
linked, thus forming a closed ring favourable to concentration.'

It was practically inviting a riot, but we did it. I turned out the
light, being nearest the switch, took Barbara's slim fingers in my left
hand and Arabella's clammy paw in my right, and composed myself to
meditation. There was much whispering and scuffling at the other side of
the table, but presently it died away and comparative silence reigned.

'Please be patient,' said Mr. Podmore. 'When I feel that a presence is
building up for the purpose of communicating with us, I will instantly
report. If any of you become conscious of similar phenomena—after all,
some of you may be more mediumistic than I—will you kindly indicate the
fact?'

Silence lay upon us once more—more heavily this time. Suddenly the
table gave a disturbing creak: three resounding bumps followed. There
were startled exclamations in the darkness.

'Is some one present?' inquired Mr. Podmore, his voice trembling with
eagerness.

The reply was immediate, and was conveyed, not by conventional rappings,
but by a muffled falsetto voice, proceeding apparently from under the
table.

'I am the spirit,' it squeaked, 'of the late Martha Podmore, deceased
wife of Ernest Podmore. Is my Ernie around?'

'I'll control him,' said Lila. 'Please go ahead, Mr. Podmore: I was just
beginning to feel divinely creepy.'

Podmore, always easily mollified, resumed his seat.

'I have a further suggestion to make,' he announced. 'Spirits which
desire to be manifested usually present themselves to the
medium—myself, we will say—at once, and the medium transmits their
message to the individuals most[Pg 138] directly concerned. But sometimes the
spirits are not in a responsive mood, and decline to make use of the
medium. In that case, it is usually more profitable for the whole
company to select some particular spirit, and invoke its presence by
collective concentration.'

'That's a good idea,' said Lila. 'Who shall we start with? Would you
like us to concentrate on your late husband, Mrs. Dunham-Massey?'

'What about one of those historical characters you were telling me about
this morning, Leslie?'

'Hannibal?'

'Yes. Perhaps a woman would be more interesting, though.'

'Dido, then?'

'Yes, Dido.'

'That is, if she ever existed.'

'This will give us a chance to find out.'

'Very well. Mr. Podmore, could we concentrate upon Queen Dido of
Carthage, do you think?'

'It would be a most interesting experiment,' replied Podmore, 'and I
think feasible. The essential vibrations should be easy to procure,
considering the short distance at which we find ourselves from the site
of Queen Dido's ancient capital. Are we all ready?'

I turned out the light, and we closed the ring again. We were growing
interested now, and this time real silence reigned. I closed my eyes in
the warm darkness, and let my imagination run. I pictured the scene of
our day's wanderings—the coast of ancient Carthage, the Byrsa, the
sites of vanished palaces, the cave....

'Is the spirit of Queen Dido of Carthage present?' he asked. There was a
tense silence; then came a faint but perceptible sound—a gentle
rustling and scratching, which in a more normal atmosphere would have
suggested mice behind a panel.

'James, my child,' remarked Lila, 'you are boring us.'

'I'm not doing anything,' replied Jimmy indignantly. 'It's Arabella.'

'I'b dot doig adythig!'

'Then, by golly——!'

'Hush!'

We sat silent again. The darkness was overpowering: the ring was firmly
closed: our nerves were taut.

Suddenly—inexplicably—unmistakably—I became conscious of—I knew not
what. A gentle wind seemed to stir my hair; something moved behind me; I
could have sworn that a ghostly hand passed over my brow. Was a presence
'building up,' as Podmore had suggested? I did not know; but there was
something there, and whatever was there was there for me. I do not know
how I knew, but I knew. The skin of my scalp tightened; my heart seemed
to slow down; I felt myself suddenly sinking—sinking[Pg 141]...

With a tremendous effort I shook off the spell that bound me, and
released the hands of my neighbours. Then, almost instinctively, I
leaned back and jerked on the light. Every one sat up and blinked.

'Hallo,' said Jimmy, 'what was that for? I was concentrating like
smoke.'

'I gave no directions, Colonel Miles——' began Podmore mildly.

'I say, observe our Leslie!' piped Lila.

Every one complied. Barbara rose to her feet.

'Leslie,' she said, 'you're looking ghastly. This cabin is too hot for
you: come on deck.'

'I rather think I will,' I replied.

At the same moment footsteps were heard approaching along the deck above
our heads; the rug which covered the skylight was plucked off, and
George Bumpstead stood revealed to us, boisterously demanding admittance
for himself and Gwen, whom he described as 'Ghostly Gertie.' The pair
were bidden to come down and take our places, and in the turmoil
inseparable from George Bumpstead's arrival anywhere I thankfully
followed Barbara on deck.

IV

'It must have been an eerie feeling, Leslie. I expect you're a natural
medium, without knowing it.'

Barbara was speaking. We were still on deck, though it was nearly
midnight. My head throbbed, but in other respects I was myself again.

'I don't believe much in mediums,' I replied. 'I put the feeling down to
some kind of self-hypnotism, due to my own state of health and the
torment of my present company. Not yours, of course!'

I described my last interviews with Gwen and Jubberley.

'I seem to have lost my grip altogether,' I lamented. 'Professionally, I
have a comfortably rough side to my tongue: my reputation in that
direction, both in the mess and on the barrack square, used to be that
of an artist of high standing. But before the people on this yacht I'm
dumb—helpless and dumb. I'm a worm in their brazen presence, and they
know it. All I can do is to sit about in corners, muttering to myself
and devising tortures for them.'

'Rather! Do you know what I would do to a man who slaps people on the
back unexpectedly?'

'Like George Bumpstead?'

'Yes. I should put him with his face up against a wall, with long spikes
sticking out of it, and then I should slap him on the back till all
the spikes worked right through. Then I should have him picked off and
rested. After that I should replace him in position, only upside down
this time, and repeat the motions in quick time. Then, as for
Jubberley—oh, Jubberley!' I wriggled convulsively.

Barbara was regarding me with serious eyes.

'Leslie,' she inquired, 'how are you sleeping?'

'Not too well. I dream perpetually on this ship, and that's a thing I
haven't done since hospital days. That infernal gramophone may be
responsible. It reminds me of the overworked instrument which did duty
in the ward next to mine. It had two records and one needle. I can
sometimes hear The Home Fires Burning now—with a long-drawn metallic
screech where you Turn the Lining Inside Out. Wow!'

'You were telling me about your dreams the other afternoon,' said
Barbara; 'but some one interrupted us.'

'You surprise me! What was I telling you?'

'Something about a vision. Was it a nice one?'

'Ah, yes! Very. It was a beautiful lady. She used to sit at the foot of
my cot.'

'What was she like?'

'Now I come to think of it, she was rather like you. Differently
dressed, of course.'

'Adequately, I trust!'

'Oh yes; she was an apparition one could have introduced anywhere. She
was you in a sort of former state—you as you would have looked if you
had been Helen of Troy, or Cleopatra, or somebody like that.'

'And she used to sit on the end of your cot?'

'Yes. She just sat there and smiled at me, and then faded away.'

'Like the Cheshire cat? I had no idea you were such a ladies' man,
Leslie.'

'The only places where I meet ladies these days are in dreams,' I said.
'The other kind have put me on the shelf.'

Barbara shook her head. 'The only time we ever go on the shelf,' she
said, 'is when we climb[Pg 145] up and put ourselves there. I advise you to
climb down again before it's too late, my friend.'

'What do you mean by too late?' I asked dejectedly.

'I mean, before you find that you—can't get down, stupid! Now you must
go to bed. What would Mrs. Dunham-Massey say if she saw us here!'

We stood together for a moment, gazing across the moonlit waters towards
the towering silhouette of North Africa.

'What a lovely night!' murmured Barbara. 'And how warm and soft the
breeze is! As caressing as a velvet cloak about one's shoulders.'

'It's the land breeze,' I said. 'It springs up about this time, and
blows out to sea. It comes down from those mountains over there.
Grim-looking old fellows, what?'

'I wonder what lies behind them.'

'Some of the oldest secrets in the world,' I said soberly.

Barbara shivered slightly.

'You're tired,' I said: 'it's after midnight. What about a little
folding of the hands to sleep?'

We tiptoed down the companion-stair, hand[Pg 146] in hand, like two naughty
children. Presently we arrived outside Barbara's cabin. She held my hand
a moment longer.

'We have had an instructive conversation, my dear,' she said. 'To-morrow
I shall talk to you like a mother; but here are three pieces of advice
to go on with. First, get Rorison to bring you a nice whisky-and-soda;
secondly, go to sleep and don't dream; thirdly, always greet your
tormentors with a smile—but hit back! Good-night.'

Her door closed, and I walked to my cabin. Here I found Rorison waiting
for me.

'Rorison,' I said, 'get me a whisky-and-soda.'

'Yes, sirr.'

'And I was particularly instructed to tell you that it must be a nice
one.'

Rorison observed that all whiskies-and-sodas are nice.

'I presume that what was meant on this occasion was a stiff one. Bring
it up on deck: I think I shall sleep there: this cabin is stifling.'

Rorison disappeared upon his errand of mercy, and I substituted a
dressing-gown for my dinner-jacket. Then I returned to the deck,
carrying a couple of blankets and a pillow, where I found my Ganymede
waiting with a[Pg 147] sizzling tumbler on a salver. I dismissed him to his own
bed, and made myself comfortable in a long bamboo chair under the
awning.

After that I drank the whisky-and-soda—I noticed that Rorison had taken
no chances about its not being nice—and settled down to sleep. But
sleep was long in coming. The night was very still, except for the balmy
land breeze; and dark, for the moon had set. Away forward the
riding-light of the yacht hung twinkling on the forestay; over my head
glowed a single electric bulb. Otherwise, the darkness and the stillness
were complete.

I tried counting sheep and other well-tried inducements to
slumber—including a patent one of my own, which consists in selecting
some familiar golf-course and playing an imaginary round on it,
visualising the exact lie of the ball after each stroke—but all in
vain. Then, gradually, I awoke to the realisation that I was lying flat
on my back, breathing heavily, and blinking at the electric light above
me. No wonder I could not sleep: I would turn it out.

Easier said than done. I rose and experimented with a row of switches
situated at the head of the companionway, without success. Well,
electric lights can always be extinguished by removing the bulbs.
Unfortunately this[Pg 148] bulb was just out of my reach, suspended from the
boom which supported the awning. I tried standing on the skylight below
it, but came short by six inches.

I looked round. A Moorish tea-table stood on the deck beside my bamboo
couch. Having laid my pillow on the skylight, to protect the glass, I
set this table on the pillow; then, balancing myself precariously,
essayed to remove the bulb.

I succeeded: it broke in my hand. The light went out; a sharp electric
shock ran up my arm: I swayed, toppled, crashed—and found repose at
last.

Slowly I opened my eyes. It may have been five minutes later, or as many
hours; but it was still dark, except for a certain fluorescent radiance
from the sea.

I was lying, half-dazed, upon a heap of cushions beside my couch, which
had probably broken my fall. Before me, irradiated by the pale light of
sea and sky, stood a tall, slender, white-clad female figure.

Ex Africa, Semper!

Then I realised that this was not Barbara. It was some one else—some
one associated in my mind with iodoform and a wheezy gramophone playing
Tipperary or Home Fires Burning in the next ward. I put my hand to
my aching head.

My visitor spoke, in a deep melodious voice.

'I am not the Barbara of whom you speak,' she said.

'I beg your pardon,' I replied. 'I was confusing you with some one whom
you strongly resemble. I recognise you now. We first met in Number One
General Hospital at Wimereux, years ago. I was pretty bad that night,
wasn't I?'

'I suppose I was. Anyhow, I was extremely glad to see you. You cheered
me up, I can tell you.'

'I had come thither to strengthen you.'

'And you certainly did, every time you came. I remember we saw quite a
lot of one another during my convalescence; and even after that you used
to look in occasionally. It was charming of you.' I knew I was talking
inconsequent nonsense, but I could not stop. 'I was describing you to
some one only this evening.'

Merciful Heavens! I sat up sharply, and a stabbing pain shot through my
head. With a gracious gesture my august visitant motioned to me to lie
down upon the couch. I did so: I was extremely glad to do so.

'Queen Dido?' I murmured. 'We were asking for you down below just now.'

'I was present,' replied Her Majesty, 'though I could not reveal myself,
for lack of a bodily envelope. But I was well pleased that my[Pg 151] name
should have lingered in the hearts of men.'

'You've been dead—I mean, you used to live a considerable time ago,
didn't you?' I inquired, groping for my exact bearings.

'Three thousand years, and more.'

I nodded politely. 'But you visit Earth now and then?'

'Continually. The shades of the great are permitted to do so.'

'Of course, in your position you could always wangle a bit of leave.' I
sat up again, suddenly aware that my mode of address bordered on the
colloquial. 'Why, O Queen? With what intent?'

'That we may watch over those in whom our hearts are interested.'

'I see. But why pick on—that is to say, why should I, of all men, be so
honoured?'

'Because you resemble one whom I loved long since.'

Her Majesty sighed deeply, and came a step nearer. I was more or less
myself again now, and I decided that it was high time to direct the
conversation into other channels.

'Talking of resemblances,' I said, 'you are very like a great friend of
mine, Mrs. Hatton—Barbara. Do you know her at all?'

'Being but disembodied spirits ourselves,' continued my visitor, who was
obviously one of those fortunate people who are impervious to
interruption, 'we needs must seek some corporeal habitation when we
visit Earth.'

'And you have selected Barbara? And very nice too! That is, I applaud
your choice, O Queen. But what is Barbara doing at the present moment,
may I ask, without her——'

'She sleeps. Should she awaken, I should be compelled to relinquish her
body.'

'Naturally,' I replied—though I did not mean it. 'You've never heard of
Box and Cox, I suppose? No, probably not. (Don't talk drivel, old man!
All right: I'll try not to. Here goes, again.) O Queen, will you deign
to inform me why you have visited me to-night?'

'I came to grant you your heart's desire.'

'I am truly grateful, O Queen; but what exactly——?' I was all at sea
again.

I received the gift doubtfully. It is never wise to accept wedding rings
from strange females, however exalted.

'Place it upon your finger.'

I slipped it into my waistcoat pocket, instead. I felt less irrevocably
wedded to Her Majesty's plans for my future with it there. She
continued:

'Guard it well, and hearken. From this moment until sunset to-morrow
this ring will bestow upon you such power as few mortals have possessed,
and which you of all men have often most sorely needed. During that time
you may wreak vengeance upon your foes. Your will shall be inflexible;
your purpose shall be of iron; your spirit shall cease for this space of
time to shrink from conflict with others. None shall be able to cause
you suffering, but you may cause suffering to any, at will.'

'Good God!' I laughed rather light-headedly. I had just realised what
that meant. I really could push spikes through Bumpstead now, if I
wanted to. I could make Arabella Hockey walk the plank. I could——

'What happens after sunset?' I asked.

'The charm expires. But within that period you should be able to
establish lasting supremacy.'

'I'll have a good bang at it, anyhow,' I said. Then a disconcerting
thing happened. Queen Dido suddenly went out—or rather out and in, two
or three times, like a faulty electric light. First she was there; then
she was gone; then she was back again. I gaped helplessly. Then she
steadied herself again.

'The soul of the Lady Barbara stirs in its sleep,' she announced. 'I
must leave you. Guard well the ring. Should you lose it, or cast it from
you, I should recover it; but I could never visit you again.'

'I should just think you wouldn't!' I replied, 'after such discourtesy!
And where will you be all to-morrow, while I am putting it
across—during my period of supremacy?'

'I shall be about you; but you will not always see me. I will appear to
you whenever possible. Should you urgently require assistance at any
time, clap your hands—thus.'

'Once?'

'Yes; unless you are in dire distress. Then clap them many times.'

I giggled childishly.

'May I try now?' I asked.

'Assuredly.'

I sat up, and clapped my hands once. Instantly I was conscious, within a
few feet of me,[Pg 155] of the figure of a Phœnician warrior, armed to the
teeth, and standing stiffly to attention.

'Go away!' I said to him. 'I will summon you later!'

'Varra good, sirr,' replied the apparition, and promptly evaporated.

I turned a dazed and inquiring eye towards the Queen. But I was too
late. Even as I looked she went out again—this time for good. Evidently
Barbara's soul had sat up and was groping for its body.

My Hour

I

I was awakened next morning by the men swabbing the decks not far from
my couch. I arose, and stretched myself. My head was clear, my body
alert, my spirits high. It is a grand thing to sleep in the open air.

My recollections of Podmore's séance had assumed their proper
proportions now. I had been foolish to subject myself to nervous
excitement while still suffering from the after-effects of war strain.
Luckily I was none the worse. As for my interesting but rather idiotic
dream about Queen Dido, it was already beginning to slip from my
thoughts. Barbara would be amused to hear such portions of it as I could
remember.

I looked over the side. The water was tempting to a hearty and vigorous
man. Two minutes later I was swimming round the yacht, to the respectful
concern of the ship's boy, who was not of an age to appreciate the
pleasures of total immersion. Then I climbed on board[Pg 157] again,
commandeered a cup of coffee and a biscuit from the galley, where the
Ethiopian assistant cook was preparing the crew's breakfast, and
returned below to my cabin. It was only six o'clock. Pleasantly relaxed
after my swim, I went properly to bed, and fell asleep.

I was awakened by a hammering upon my door and the irruption into my
presence of Jimmy Rumborough, smoking a noisome cigarette.

'I say, Colonel,' he exclaimed, 'you were warned for parade at nine
o'clock; and here you are still hogging it at nine-fifteen! The old man
is going to put you in irons!'

I sat up in my bed and addressed the intruder.

'Jimmy, my lad,' I said, 'you are young and unsophisticated, so I will
use no hard words. But if ever you burst into my cabin like this again,
in fancy dress and with a smelly little cigarette in your mouth, I shall
take you by the seat of your ridiculous trousers and drop you overboard.
As for my esteemed host, your parent, advise him to refrain, if
possible, for five minutes from fussing like an old maid.'

To say that Master Jimmy was taken aback would be a very mild statement
of the case. He simply gaped. I continued, gently:

'Now, you miserable little worm, I hope you understand. Go and tell your
father to take his entire school-treat ashore with him, double quick,
and leave a gentleman to enjoy his beauty sleep in peace.'

And I turned my face to the wall, stretching luxuriously. I heard the
door close softly, and the sound of rapidly receding footsteps. I was
dozing off again when I was aroused by a colloquy outside.

'He's tight, I think,' said the voice of Jimmy; 'but go in and find out
for yourself.'

'I shall certainly investigate the meaning of this extraordinary——'
There came a sharp rapping.

I began to feel a trifle aggrieved: this was no way to treat a guest. I
bounded out of bed and across the cabin, and opened the door with a
flourish. Sir James was standing outside, in full shore-going kit. His
mouth was pursed up, and he wore his pince-nez at a most magisterial
angle.

'Good morning!' I remarked. But my host was in no humour for the common
courtesies of life.

'Discipline, discipline, Colonel!' he snapped. 'The shore party is
waiting, and you are not even dressed.'

'The shore party need not wait,' I replied. 'In fact, I shall be
thankful to be rid of the whole boiling of them for an hour or
two—including yourself, in your Margate-beach suit—and have the ship
to myself. I may come ashore about lunch-time: I want to talk to Barbara
Hatton: but the less I see of the rest of you, the more I shall like
you. Good-bye, and again good-bye!' I slammed the door, without heat, in
his face, and went back to bed.

II

I awoke about eleven, and rang for Rorison. Instead, the ship's boy
appeared.

'Get me some breakfast,' I said, 'and I'll go ashore. This sort of thing
has got to stop. And get a move on, my lad! I've noticed you a lot
lately: you are inclined to try things on.[Pg 160] If you value your miserable
skin, don't try anything on with me!'

'Yessir!' squeaked the wretched youth, and fled.

'That,' I announced to my reflection in the mirror, 'is the stuff to
give the troops.'

By noon I was ready for the shore, and ordered a boat.

'I'll tell a man to take you over in the dinghy, sir,' said the chief
officer, who was in charge of the deck.

'Don't trouble,' I said. 'I'll take it myself; and I'll send Rorison
back with it, right away.'

I paddled to the beach, at a point where the provision boat was moored
to a natural jetty of rock. Here I found Rorison discharging cargo, in
the shape of Apollinaris water.

'Rorison,' I said, 'take this dinghy and convey yourself on board
again.'

'I was warned for tae wait on the lunch party, sirr.'

'Well, you're now warned to get on board, pronto—and the warning will
not be repeated. The lunch party shall wait on itself.'

He pushed off, and I turned my face landward. Few of my shipmates were
visible. Upon a distant rock I discerned a shapeless silhouette which I
took to be Arabella Hockley, fishing. On a flat strip of sand Lila and
Jimmy, who had been bathing, were drying themselves by dancing to the
music of the inevitable gramophone, which was 'resting on a rock,
conveniently low'—like the Walrus or the Carpenter, I forget which.
Otherwise the beach was a solitude.

Presently I came to the great cleft which marked the entrance to the
cave.

'I fancy I shall find the gang here,' I said to myself. 'I wonder if
lunch is ready.'

'Leslie dear!' said a plaintive voice.

I looked up. In an arched opening in the rock, situated about ten feet
above my head, and connecting, I remembered now, with the broad ledge
over the entrance inside, I beheld a disconsolate vision in a diaphanous
white frock and a big tulle hat. It was Gwen, registering silent and
uncomplaining martyrdom.

I knew that attitude well; and twenty-four hours ago I should have
quailed before it. It meant first of all that Gwen was suffering, and
secondly that somebody else had got to suffer too.

Gwen possesses a curious but not unusual faculty. When she is not
enjoying herself, she sees to it, in a quivering, self-effacing sort of
way, that no fellow-creature in her neighbourhood enjoys himself either.
In some uncanny fashion of her own she creates an impression that it
would be positively indecent to be happy in the presence of such
suffering—like giggling during an interment, or mocking at the
flutterings of a wounded bird. Many a time has she brought me to heel by
this trick.

It was quite plain what had happened now: she had been left out of
something, or neglected in some way, and had instantly switched on her
most devastating record. Unfortunately, her companions of the morning
happened to be persons singularly insensible to the sufferings of
others. Consequently, Gwen had been reduced to solitary moping, solacing
herself by a gentle but adamantine resolution to take it out of
somebody—probably me—at the earliest opportunity.

'Hallo!' I said. 'Is lunch ready?'

It was an unfeeling remark, and was received as I expected.

'Leslie, poor little Gwen's frightened! She climbed up here all by
herself, and can't get down. Leslie come up and save?'

'Go back the way you came, and don't be helpless,' I replied shortly,
and entered the cave.

Luncheon was spread upon a trestle-table which some one, probably
Rorison, had set out upon the rocky platform at the back. Below, near
the stone slab in the centre, Jubberley, Mrs. Dunham-Massey, and George
Bumpstead were seated round an inverted packing-case, which was being
employed as a bridge table. The fourth seat, an up-ended provision box,
was vacant, and as I entered the cave that pocket martinet, our host,
was commanding Barbara to occupy it.

'My wife has gone to mix the salad,' he announced, indicating one of the
rocky chambers. 'Mrs. Hatton, you will kindly take her place. Luncheon
will be served in a quarter of an hour: I must go and find Podmore, or
he will certainly be unpunctual.'

Barbara cast a longing look shoreward.

'I had thought of joining the children in a bathe,' she said. 'There's
just time.'

Perhaps I spoke louder than I imagined, for I noticed that every one
jumped. Sir James jumped a little higher than any one else; possibly
because he had not forgotten the words which I had been compelled to
address to him outside my cabin door.

'Barbara would far sooner enjoy herself with Lila on the beach,' I
announced. 'Run along, Barbara. Gwen will play bridge instead of you.'

There was dead silence. Then Gwen, who by this time had accepted my
advice and regained the floor of the cave under her own steam, inquired:

'Were you saying something about me, Leslie?'

'Yes. You are to play bridge with these three till lunch-time.'

Gwen's eyes and mouth were all O's, at once.

'But, Leslie dear,' she wailed, 'I'm much too nervous to play with these
experts: they'll storm at me, and frighten me to death. Besides, I think
I ought to go and help Lady Rumborough with the salad.'

'Then you can wash up after lunch. Now sit down. Off you go, Barbara,
and have a good swim!'

'I must get my bathing things first,' said Barbara. 'They're in a little
place down that passage at the back of the platform.'

This was too much for Sir James—as I had rather hoped it would be.

'But this is rank insubordination!' he spluttered.

Jubberley rose to second the motion.

'Colonel Miles,' he began, 'with the best will in the world——'

'Silence!' I commanded.

Silence was instantly forthcoming—a sudden, shocked, and most
flattering silence, except for the cavernous echoes of my own voice.
Filled with a comfortable sense of elation, I conducted Barbara to the
platform.

'Au revoir, Barbara,' I said, patting her on the shoulder.

Barbara gave me an odd look, then disappeared. I turned to the rest of
the company. I was smiling: I am not sure that I was not purring. What a
fool I had been ever to[Pg 166] let these people get the whip hand of me! I
looked them over—Gwen, with her silly, insipid face, equipped with a
reproachful smile which yesterday would have brought me to the depths of
abysmal apology; Sir James, with his absurd little whiskers and enormous
white sun-helmet; Bumpstead, with his fish's features and fat cigar;
Mrs. Dunham-Massey, white through her make-up, and obviously anxious to
say something appropriate to the occasion, yet not quite daring;
Jubberley, snorting like a marine monster, and prepared to embark upon a
philippic at any moment. Well, these people must be disciplined.

This was a little too peremptory for Sir James, even in his present
rattled condition.

'A command,' he protested—'to your commanding officer?'

'Stop talking rot, and fetch your wife!'

'But, Colonel Miles, I am your host, and your superior officer——'

I began to feel annoyed with this fatuous little pedant, as any sane
person would; so I took him by the collar and projected him—quite[Pg 167]
inoffensively, I hope—into the rock chamber wherein his lady wife was
presumably concocting the salad.

For once the truthful one had no pearl of sincerity to offer. She simply
rose and hurried out, without a word. She seemed pleased to go.

I turned to observe the effect of my action upon the remaining three.
Gwen and George Bumpstead were considerably impressed; I could see that.
But not Jubberley. Nothing, I realised, would ever impress Jubberley but
a definite object lesson, with Jubberley as the object. I should have to
put on my thinking-cap about Jubberley. Even now he was approaching me,
with forefinger outstretched and dignified remonstrance in every curve
of him.

'Colonel Miles——' he began.

'Well, what is it now?' I replied, civilly enough.

Jubberley gave his celebrated imitation of a sea-lion before lunch, and
continued:

'Colonel Miles, a joke is a joke; but I feel bound, in all
friendliness——'

He was at point-blank range by this time. I kept admirable control of
myself.

'Don't interrupt! You are an old man, and only a few years now stand
between you and a long-overdue and dishonoured grave. I should therefore
like to spare you the scene which is going to be enacted in this cave
directly.' I pointed to the entrance. 'Go! And take that goggle-eyed
girl with you.'

He got no further. Emitting my best roar to date, I proceeded to hound
and hustle Jubberley across the sandy floor and out on to the beach,
where I left him blowing like a stranded walrus and bereft of all powers
of utterance. Gwen, I was pleased to observe, followed of her own
accord; or rather, I think she preceded us. She did not even say 'Poor
little Gwen!'

Having cleared the ground of Jubberley, I was now free to deal with
Bumpstead, who was standing in the middle of the cave with his mouth
open. I approached him.

'What the devil are you jabbering about?' he inquired, without much
assurance. 'Are you drunk?'

'Bumpstead,' I repeated, 'take off your coat!'

This time he obeyed: I suppose there was something hypnotic in my eye.
Anyhow, the coat came off; and Bumpstead stood there, grinning
sheepishly, and trying to pretend that we were playing some new kind of
round game together.

'Bumpstead,' I continued, 'I am now going to insult you—so far as any
one possibly can——'

'Not at all, old man!' he replied cordially.

'However, I'll do my best. Here goes! You are a boor, a braggart, and a
monumental liar. Your sense of humour is that of a yokel at a fair, and
your manners are those of a Prussian subaltern in a beer-hall. As an
explorer, I don't believe you could find your way from the elevator to
the platform of an ordinary Tube station. Regarding your big-game
exploits, it is my belief that the biggest game you have ever hunted are
the larks in the pudding at the Cheshire Cheese. That's the sort of
celebrity you are, Bumpstead. I can't think of anything more to say to
you at present, but I may return to the subject later. You can put on
your coat again: I only took mine off[Pg 170] to see if it would frighten you;
and I observe that it did, as I knew it would. On with it!'

'Don't make idiotic conversation,' I replied. 'Go and tell the others to
come in to lunch.'

George hailed this order with positive gratitude.

'Righto, old boy!' he said. Still smiling, he edged his way out of the
cave, and vanished.

I sat down on a deck chair, recently occupied by Lady Rumborough, with
my feet on the bridge table, and lit my pipe. I wanted to make plans. I
felt full of ideas and energy—a physical and mental giant. One of the
most curious phenomena of human life is the completeness with which a
new mood can envelop us. At moments of elation we feel that we have
never known any other state of mind: life has always been one grand
sweet song. At moments of depression we feel that we have always been
like this and always will be. This circumstance does not help to lighten
our darker hours, but it certainly maintains the glamour of our hours of
exaltation. To-day I had not a care in the world: I feared nothing[Pg 171] and
nobody, and I could not picture myself ever having at any time feared
anything or anybody, or see myself doing so in future. Hurrah for Life!

But first of all I must take certain humdrum disciplinary measures. As a
beginning——

At this moment I became conscious of a tickling sensation upon the top
of my head, in the region of that growing bald spot which warns so many
of us in our early thirties that the hairs of our head are numbered, and
so are our years. I put up my hand idly, and encountered a cold, slimy,
wriggling resistance. An imbecile giggle discharged itself into my right
ear.

I sprang to my feet, and found myself confronted by Arabella Hockley,
dangling a moribund and unpleasant-looking fish by the tail.

'That bade you jump a little bit, didn't it?' she inquired archly.

Well, I might as well settle with this one now.

'Arabella,' I said, 'far be it from me to lay hands upon a woman,
especially a creature as lovely as yourself——'

Arabella looked puzzled. Here was a new and unfamiliar form of
invective.

'—save in the way of kindness. But I warn you that if ever you do
anything like that again,[Pg 172] I shall inflict the most hideous punishment
upon you.'

Arabella sniggered, and sat down upon the slab of rock.

'You are id a temper this bordig, aren't you?' she said. After which she
produced some yellowish garbage from the pocket of her Aquascutum, and
began to chew it.

'What are you eating?' I asked.

'Badada.'

'What else have you in those pockets?'

'Bait.'

'Come here!'

Arabella did not move: why should she? She had had her will of me since
the outset of our acquaintance. I stepped across to her, picked her up
by the scruff of her neck, and set her upon her feet.

'Arabella,' I said, 'I give you half an hour. At the end of that time
you will report to me here—washed, combed, and with your pockets
cleared out and your general fishy aroma as completely abated as present
circumstances will permit.'

With a sudden wriggle Arabella broke from my grasp, and scrambled up the
staircase to the ledge over the entrance. From this eminence she
addressed me.

'I could tell you subthig fuddy,' she announced, 'about Gwed and George
Bumpstead; but I shan't, dow!'

In Gwen and George I took not the faintest interest; but insubordination
was another matter. I mounted the stairway three steps at a time, took
the squealing Arabella in my arms, carried her to the rocky window
overlooking the beach, and dropped her on to the soft sand below. She
scuttled away sideways, like a frightened crab.

III

I descended the staircase into the empty cave, whistling; then stopped,
suddenly. The cave was not empty. Upon the rocky platform opposite to me
stood a tall, slender female figure, robed in white.

'Hail, O Queen!' I said, bowing low despite myself.

'Isn't that rather effusive?' replied the lady addressed, descending
from the platform and sitting by the bridge table. In the not too bright
light of the cave I now realised that she was wearing a white wrapper
over her bathing dress.

'Barbara!'

'Yes. Whom else were you expecting?'

'I don't know,' I said confusedly. 'At least,[Pg 174] I do know. Seeing you
dressed like that has just reminded me of something—of a dream I had
last night. It has all come back, with a bang. Great heavens! can that
be why I've been so infernally——'

'Bossy?' suggested Barbara.

'That's the word. I've been going it a bit since I came ashore, haven't
I?'

'And before that, by all accounts. What did you say to Jimmy and his
father when they woke you up this morning?'

'Nothing more than what any Christian gentleman would say at having his
rest disturbed. Did they appear surprised?'

Barbara bubbled joyously.

'They did,' she said. 'But tell me about your dream.'

I described to her the apparition of last night—everything had come
back to me now, to the last detail—and Dido's promise to me of
twenty-four hours of aggressive disposition and thick skin.

'I suppose I've been unconsciously reacting to the suggestion of the
dream,' I concluded. 'But there may be more in it than that: North
Africa's an eerie place. The ancient Romans had a proverb on the
subject. "Always something unexpected from Africa," they used to[Pg 175] say.
Now I look at you, there is more than that. Listen to this bit: it
concerns you.'

And I broke to Barbara, as tactfully as possible, the news of the
liberties which Dido had recently taken with her outward covering.

But Barbara declined to show concern over this revelation. In fact, she
was disposed to be facetious over the whole business. Possibly she was
aware that ridicule is fatal to the most pretentious hallucinations.

'Are you expecting any further visits from your lady friend?' she asked.

'She gave me to understand that she would be constantly in attendance.'

'And when she came, she would be wearing my skin and bones?'

'Your "bodily envelope," she called it.'

'H'm!' said Barbara. 'I'm a reasonable woman, I hope, and I admit that
when I am asleep my body can be of no possible use to me. Still, you
know, one doesn't altogether relish the idea of lending it to a
stranger. Think of the things she might do with it! Think how she might
dress it!'

'Think how she might feed it!' I suggested feelingly.

'She might even dye my hair henna colour, or shingle it,' continued
Barbara. 'No, one[Pg 176] must never entrust strangers with things which are
essentially one's own. You know how it is when you let your flat to
people. It's never the same flat again.'

'Especially when it's a nicely furnished flat.'

'Exactly. That's how I regard my body—as a nicely furnished flat.'

'Nicely furnished, certainly; but not flat—not by no means. Look at
your arms!'

'Leslie,' said Barbara severely, 'this is no time for fatuous
compliments. I don't like the liberties your friend is proposing to take
with me, and I warn you solemnly that if I get my face back one morning
with a red nose on it I shall hold you personally responsible.'

'You'll get it back in perfect order, I'm sure.'

'How can one be sure? Why, there's no guarantee that I shall get it back
at all! Suppose Dido were to get drowned, or run over by a chariot, with
my body on—what would happen to my poor little soul, I should like to
know?'

'I suppose it would have to lurk among these rocks, like a hermit crab
that's lost its shell.'

Barbara rose to her feet, smiling indulgently.

'We're talking like a pair of imbeciles,' she said, 'and if I go on any
longer I shall end by[Pg 177] believing what I'm saying. I think I'll collect
my faculties by taking a dip in the sea. I wonder if there'll be time
before lunch?'

'There shall be time,' I replied magnificently, rising to my feet. 'I
will switch my hypnotic eye upon any one who objects.' Lady Rumborough,
looking incredibly gaunt and forbidding, had just emerged from the
salad-mixing annexe, evidently bent upon my castigation. Behind her, at
a discreet distance, I observed the figures of her husband and Mrs.
Dunham-Massey.

'Colonel Miles——' she began, in the voice of a hanging judge.

I cut her short.

'Lady Rumborough,' I said, 'I am going down to the beach with Mrs.
Hatton, while she bathes. I had intended to lunch immediately, but you
may now postpone the meal for twenty minutes. Get the others together,
so that I shall not be kept waiting. And kindly inform your young whelp
of a son that if he pollutes the atmosphere by smoking cigarettes at the
table before the meal begins I shall wring his neck for him. Come along,
Barbara!'

Rough Stuff

I

At luncheon it was evident from the start that I was to be humoured, as
one afflicted by Heaven; and the key-word was obviously 'sunstroke.' Not
that such a malady was mentioned: the company were unusually silent; but
whenever I made a remark—and I made a good many—some one hastened to
agree with me, and then resumed the uneasy contemplation of the end of
his own nose. At first I was mildly amused, but presently I found myself
growing a little irritable. Due deference is good, but it becomes boring
to be treated like a congenital idiot, especially by congenital
idiots—such as Arabella Hockley—so I decided to show my companions
that I was not to be put off with indulgent smiles and soothing nods. As
soon as the meal was over I addressed them.

'He said something about fraternising with the natives,' replied Jimmy.
'I expect he's in a mosque in La Marsa by this time, teaching them to
sing Hail, Smiling Morn!'

'I will attend to Podmore as soon as he comes back,' I said. 'Meanwhile,
I can deal with present company. I'll take you as you sit. Lila, what
are you going to do this afternoon?'

'Jimmy and I thought we should like to bathe again, Leslie,' replied
Lila, with unusual meekness.

'You shall. But if I hear a single note from the gramophone, I shall
destroy it.'

'Yes, Leslie.' Lila's elbow slid with a warning nudge into the ribs of
Jimmy, who was obviously anxious to volunteer a comment here. I passed
on to our hostess.

'Lady Rumborough, what are you going to do?'

'I am going to play bridge,' replied her ladyship. 'Have you any
objection?' she added truculently.

'None whatever, to decently conducted bridge. You, Sir James, Bumpstead,
Mrs. Dunham-Massey, and Jubberley shall cut out; and if I feel like it
I'll give you all a lesson. That accounts for five more. Capital!'

'I told you to have yourself cleaned and deodorised. I see the time has
come to take steps about you.' I rose and lit my pipe. 'What are you
going to do, Barbara?'

'With your gracious permission,' replied Barbara, in mock humility, 'I
am going to take a nap in my private cell down the passage behind the
platform. I'm still struggling with sleep.'

'Good idea,' I said.

'After that,' Barbara continued, turning in the archway and throwing a
certain note of emphasis into her voice, 'I shall collect you, my
friend, and take you to sit in some nice, cool, shady spot until
supper-time.'

She disappeared, and I turned quickly upon the others. A faint grin
faded from the faces of Jimmy and Lila as I did so.

'I feel like a siesta myself,' I announced. 'Report to me, all of you
here, in half an hour exactly. Till then you can do what you like.'

I mounted the little rocky staircase over the entrance, and, reclining
comfortably in the embrasure, smoked my pipe and looked out over the
blue Mediterranean. Once or twice I nodded: it was very restful up
there, and I had had a disturbed night.

Presently I became conscious of a subdued gabble in the cave behind
me—the sound, one might say, of an indignation meeting of white mice.
The voice of Jubberley was distinguishable.

'How does the law stand in the matter?' he was asking. 'To what
lengths——'

'The law,' replied Sir James, 'permits us to put him——'

'What terrifies me,' interpolated Mrs. Dunham-Massey, 'is the way he
sits gloating over us—almost cooing. One feels that he is going to
pounce at any moment.'

'Margot dear, don't!' bleated Gwen.

George Bumpstead broke in.

'I had to take a pretty stiff line with him before lunch,' he said. 'At
one time I thought I should have to use physical force with the fellow.
He's as mad as a coot: we'd better get the captain to put him in irons
as soon as he goes on board.'

'But what won't he do before he goes on board?' boomed Lady Rumborough.

What indeed? I chuckled again: I was minded to do a good many things.
Well, I might as well get to work now. I knocked out my pipe, rose to my
feet, and sauntered down into the cave again. My appearance was the[Pg 183]
signal for the dissolution of the indignation meeting, which silently
melted away down passages and through archways. George Bumpstead and
Gwen were the first to go, then Mrs. Dunham-Massey. Lady Rumborough, I
think, would have liked to stay and give battle, but Sir James placed
her arm in his and towed her out of sight. Jubberley alone was left. I
realised that, with characteristic inability to let well alone,
Jubberley had decided to provoke an encounter with me. Well, I had tried
clemency with Jubberley before luncheon, and clemency, it seemed, had
failed. I must take a stiff line, like George Bumpstead.

'Colonel Miles,' began Jubberley, advancing to within the usual
point-blank range, 'could I have a word with you for five minutes or
so?'

I stepped back a pace, and sat down upon one of the improvised seats at
the bridge table.

'There are hundreds of persons, Jubberley,' I announced, 'walking this
earth to-day, who live from hour to hour in danger of summary
assassination. You are one of them; in fact, you are high up on the
list.'

As I had anticipated, Jubberley swelled like a frog.

'Are you aware, sir,' he demanded, 'that I am a Member of Parliament,
and an Honorary[Pg 184] Vice-President of no less than fourteen societies
dedicated to the betterment of——'

'Yes,' I replied; 'but that doesn't really account for it. I have known
men who were all these things, yet died in their beds, with their boots
off. The simple truth, Jubberley, is that you are a bore. What is more,
you are an aggressive, offensive bore; what is more, you are a
close-range, hard-breathing bore. Men have gone to the thumbscrew and
the rack before now for lesser crimes than the crime you daily commit in
continuing to exist.' I crossed my legs, and filled another pipe. 'Well,
that's all about you. The question is, what am I to do to you, or with
you? I'm sick of the sight of your foolish face, and the sound of your
foolish voice.' I pondered, then looked up. 'I know! Why didn't I think
of that before? We'll call up Dido.'

I clapped my hands once—I had just remembered the Queen's parting
injunction—and waited to see if anything would really happen.

It did. I was suddenly aware of the martial presence of my Phœnician
friend with the Glasgow accent, standing to attention within six feet of
us.

'Take this gentleman,' I continued, 'and keep him somewhere—in
discomfort if possible, but somewhere handy—until I want him.'

'Varra good, my lorrd.'

Rorison—for it was indubitably Rorison's mortal envelope—took his
bemused charge by the elbow and led him to the rectangular slab of rock
in the centre of the cave.

'Step you up here,' he ordered. Jubberley obeyed mechanically, and
Rorison, taking his stand beside him, rapped sharply upon the rock with
the butt of his spear. Instantly the rock began to sink, as smoothly as
a hydraulic lift. Simultaneously, Jubberley realised what was happening.

'Colonel Miles,' he bellowed, 'I protest! I shall appeal to the British
Consul at Tunis! The London Press shall ring with—— Help!'

Nothing but his head was now visible. I heard a startled exclamation
behind me, and turned. Sir James and Lady Rumborough had re-entered the
cave, followed by Mrs. Dunham-Massey. Bumpstead, needless to say, came
last. I greeted them with a smile.

'It was. But never mind Jubberley at present: I've got him where I want
him. My business is with you. Come here.'

'Humour him!' counselled an earnest voice in the rear of the group.

I rose briskly, and walked to the improvised bridge table, and spread
out the cards of one of the packs.

'Now for a bridge lesson,' I said cheerfully. 'You will first of all cut
for partners, and then take your seats in an orderly fashion.'

The quartette moved forward obediently: plainly, I had them well in
hand. Lady Rumborough exhibited a little less alacrity than the others,
but time would cure that. A thought occurred to me.

'Jubberley must be in this,' I said; 'then I can kill five birds with
one stone.' I leaned over and rapped upon the rocky slab with my[Pg 187] pipe.
It sank forthwith, to reappear a few minutes later bearing Rorison and
Jubberley. Jubberley, I noticed, was now gagged with his own
pocket-handkerchief, a circumstance which did not surprise me in the
least.

'Remove the gag,' I said. Rorison obeyed, and Jubberley began at once.

'Colonel Miles, I shall communicate with the Foreign Office direct——'

'Replace the gag,' I said.

'No, no!' spluttered Jubberley. 'I renounce my intention.'

'That's better. I am arranging a bridge four, and you may as well cut
in. Come along!'

Jubberley shambled to the table and turned up a card. It was an ace.

'Now for the rest of you,' I said. They obeyed, except Lady Rumborough;
so I cut a card for her myself. Bumpstead drew a king.

'That lets you out until the second rubber,' I said to him; 'but don't
go away: I want you to listen. Sit down, you others. Jubberley, you are
playing with Sir James. Lady Rumborough, you will now cut the cards to
Jubberley.'

'I will now what?' inquired Lady Rumborough, in a voice which intimated
pretty[Pg 188] plainly that she had decided to stick her toes in and chance the
consequences.

'I beg your pardon.'

'It's about time!' she retorted.

'I was forgetting your infirmity. Guard!'

'My lorrd?'

'Bring me an attendant with a penetrating voice.'

Rorison sloped his spear, turned sharp left, and disappeared through an
archway, emerging a minute later followed by an enormous Nubian warrior
(he bore a most uncanny resemblance to the cook's mate on board the
yacht) armed with a species of battle-axe. At a sign from Rorison, he
took his place by Lady Rumborough's side.

'If this lady should fail to hear anything at any time,' I said to him,
'you will——'

Lady Rumborough subsided hastily on to her appointed camp-stool.

'All right: I'll cut,' she said.

She did so, and Jubberley dealt the cards with quivering hand.

'Before you begin to play,' I continued, 'I want you all to listen to
me. Rumborough, you will refrain from directing operations or fussing in
any way whatsoever through the game. Lady Rumborough, you will carefully
avoid[Pg 189] giving information to your partner, either by innuendo,
deliberate hesitation, or direct statement. Mrs. Dunham-Massey, you are
on no account to say patronising things if you win, or imply by the tone
of your voice that your opponents have cheated if you lose. Bumpstead,
you will name all cards by their right names and avoid all reference to
such monstrosities as "The Curse of Scotland," "Old Mossy Face," or "The
Bullet." All of you, as soon as a hand has been played, will proceed to
the next without post-mortems or recriminations of any description. In
your case, Jubberley, I will go a step further: you will remain
absolutely silent throughout the rubber.'

'But, sir,' replied Jubberley meekly, 'how can I name my suit?'

'You must employ the ancient art of pantomime.'

Jubberley, utterly demoralised, bowed his head, and, having examined his
cards, rolled a furtive eye at his partner; then put his hand upon his
heart and held up one finger.

II

'Go and fetch a couple of buckets of water and a towel from somewhere,
and then find Gwen. It's time she started washing up.'

'Great idea!'

'You can give her a hand until it's time for you to cut in.'

'Certainly, old chap.' George hurried off: he seemed really anxious to
help.

'If you aren't back in five minutes,' I called after him, 'with the
buckets and Gwen, I shall come and fetch you.' Then I turned with a
contented smile towards a furtive and tousled figure lurking behind a
rock in a corner of the cave.

'Is that you, Arabella?' I said.

'Yes.'

'Come here.' She came, at a snail's pace, dragging her feet.

'Have you carried out my orders?'

Arabella gave a defiant sniff, and wriggled.

'Guard,' I said, 'fetch me a capable woman, with a cake of soap and some
scouring flannel.'

Rorison made his usual exit, and returned with a grim-looking female who
in her earthly days might have been the wardress of a dungeon.

'Take this creature,' I said to her, pointing[Pg 191] to the now cringing
Arabella, 'and scrub her. Then array her in clean clothing, and let her
loose.'

'Assuredly, my lord.' A hand of iron descended upon Arabella's shoulder,
and she was conducted, unresisting, out of my presence. I turned to
Rorison.

'I shan't want you any more just now,' I said.

'Varra good, my lord,' replied my familiar—and vanished like a puff of
smoke. The bridge-players, dutifully intent upon their game, failed to
note this interesting phenomenon. It was a pity, for it would have
caused them to revise their sunstroke theory—or at least extend it.

I glanced at my wrist-watch: the five minutes were up. I strolled to the
archway through which George Bumpstead had disappeared, and uttered a
roar.

'Just coming, old boy!' cried a reassuring voice, and George hastened
into view. He carried two buckets of water and wore dish-clouts round
his neck, and was followed by Gwen, whose look of suffering was
obviously genuine, for once.

'Now then, get to work,' I said to her. 'Setting you to wash dishes for
Rorison is a crude and obvious form of penance; but it is[Pg 192] appropriate
enough. You have spent your life vamping other people into doing things
for you that you ought to have done for yourself, so now we'll reverse
the motions. Put those buckets on the platform, George, beside the
luncheon table, and stand by with the towel. Get down to it, Gwen!'

I had thrown a slight parade-ground rasp into my voice. Gwen took up a
plate from the table, plunged it viciously into a bucket, and thrust it
dripping into George's hand. If she had not been thoroughly scared, I
think she would have liked to bite a piece out of the plate—or George's
hand. Anything that was nearest, in fact.

'When Podmore comes in, he can take your place, Bumpstead,' I said.
'You'll be wanted presently for the second rubber. Jubberley, what are
you waving your elbows for?'

'I was endeavouring to reproduce the motions of digging, Colonel,' said
Jubberley, not without a certain solemn pride, 'in order to indicate
that I wished to declare a spade.'

'Oh, sorry! Go ahead. How does the game stand? Hallo! what's that?' I
cocked my ears. From the beach outside came the sound of raucous and
epileptic music.

'Carry on, everybody!' I commanded.[Pg 193] Then I turned to the Ethiopian with
the battle-axe. 'Come with me,' I said, and hurried out of the cave.

The gramophone was set on a rock near the sea, in full blast, and Lila
and Jimmy, clad in dressing-gowns, were practising a new and intricate
step together in its immediate neighbourhood. Lila caught sight of me
first, over Jimmy's shoulder, and faltered. Jimmy, evidently warned by
her, looked round in my direction, then proceeded to dance with
increased determination. I approached, and halted a few yards away.

'Stop that!' I said.

They obeyed. Lila, wide-eyed and a little frightened, gazed
apprehensively at the battle-axe; but her cavalier was inclined to be
bellicose.

'Who's your friend?' he asked. 'Where's his big drum?'

I turned to the gentleman indicated.

'Destroy that accursed thunder-box,' I said.

Without a word the giant strode to the rock, and, raising his axe aloft,
brought it down with a crash, cleaving the gramophone into two identical
halves. Then, moving round a quarter of a circle, he repeated the
operation, and neatly quartered the instrument. The music stopped[Pg 194] with
a jerk, and uncoiled springs, chips of wood, and fragments of ebonite
record filled the air.

'Thank you,' I said. 'You may go now to the place you came from, and
wait until I send for you again.'

My henchman saluted and marched away, leaving me face to face with my
two young nuisances. Lila was obviously impressed: her habitual pertness
had completely evaporated. Her lips were parted, and she gazed at me
fearfully. But Master Jimmy was in a warlike mood. Having availed
himself of a heaven-sent opportunity of putting his arm round Lila's
waist, he addressed me:

'Colonel,' he announced, 'you're a damned cad! Come along, Lila!'

He turned and walked away towards the cave, giving more than adequate
support to the drooping form of his companion.

I sat down upon the rock, amid the fragments of the gramophone, and
pondered. I was conscious of two nascent and novel sensations: one, the
conviction that I had been making an egregious ass of myself; the other,
a distinct and entirely unprecedented feeling of respect for Jimmy
Rumborough.

Revelation

I continued to ponder, seated on a rock in the warm afternoon sunshine.
Plainly I had been in danger of overdoing things. I had hit back, and
hit hard, but—to what effect? True, I had enjoyed myself in a certain
schoolboy fashion for an hour or two, but all I had really achieved was
the considerable feat of bringing myself down to the level of people
like Jubberley and George Bumpstead. I had been as verbose as the one
and as boorish as the other. Dido's gift, the rare and refreshing fruit
of Reprisal, was in danger of turning to ashes in my mouth.

I had something else on my mind, too, something which I could not quite
define. What was it? I was conscious of its existence, but at present it
neither oppressed me nor elated me: all I realised was that it was
something very big and momentous. What could it be? I rose, and set out
for a ramble along the beach, trying to discover. Soon the cave was far
behind me. I had lost all interest in the bridge four, and in my plans
for the future reformation[Pg 196] of my shipmates. I had worked out quite a
considerable scheme for making the yacht a fit place for decent people
to live in—a place, in fact, where objectionable noises would be
tabu, and where no one would be allowed to intrude upon my privacy or
speak unless he was spoken to. But now, I found, I did not much mind
what these people did.

After all, I mused, we could ignore them. We had each other: we were a
pair apart; the very air we breathed would decline to support such
organisms as Jubberley and Mrs. Dunham-Massey. They would sink to a
lower, grosser altitude, and leave us to ourselves...

What on earth was I talking about? We—each other—a pair apart? Why had
I suddenly taken to thinking in the plural? Why was I prancing along the
beach like a boy of twenty instead of a battered wreck of thirty-four?
Why was I waving my hat to unintroduced seagulls? Why was I whistling?
Why——

Then—suddenly—at last—the answer came to me. Barbara! Just that,
Barbara! And I had been so obsessed by my own selfish ailments and
pettifogging little dislikes that I had entirely overlooked the
overwhelming alleviation that was lying within my very grasp. Barbara!
As if anything else mattered! What[Pg 197] a fool I had been!—as foolish as
the shipwrecked men on the raft in Jules Verne's story, dying of thirst
when they need not. (I wondered if Barbara had read the story. Probably
not: I would tell it to her, and she would smile—that slow, entrancing,
humorous smile that I had loved ever since I was a schoolboy—and tell
me that I was too old and crabbed now to be setting up as a courtier.
But she wouldn't mean it: bless her, she wouldn't mean it!) I realised
now what had been in her mind last night when she had spoken about
people who laid themselves upon the shelf of their own accord. Her words
had conveyed a message for me, if I were not too grossly self-centred to
read it. I saw the light at last. She and I had missed our first chance
years ago, and by the glorious goodness of Providence we had been given
a second. Barbara!

I swung impulsively round upon my toes, and set off towards the cave
again, uplifted by a great vision and soothed by a great peace. I felt
kindly disposed towards all men.

'Hang it all,' I even said to myself, 'Arabella can be a bridesmaid if
she likes—Aquascutum and everything!' The fact that the said Arabella
was even now probably undergoing compulsory ablution at my behest had
entirely[Pg 198] faded from my recollection. All I could think of was the
future—in other words, Barbara. I must have speech with her at once.
Had she awakened from her siesta, I wondered? If so, she had
promised—nay, offered—to sit with me somewhere and talk, and charm me
back to my old self. Well, I had come to myself without her
presence—but it was not quite my old self, and never would be, thank
God!

Then suddenly, as I rounded a promontory of rock, walking on air, I
found myself face to face with my Lady—white-robed, clear-eyed, with
her long golden mane rippling in the breeze.

'Barbara!' I cried exultantly.

'Nay, my lord,' replied the vision composedly.

Horror! It was Dido again! Too late, I realised the extent of the
complications which may arise from thoughtless association with
disembodied spirits—especially the spirits of romantically minded and
imperious females.

Hobnobbing with Royalty

I

'She has succumbed at last, my lord,' announced the Queen, with every
appearance of gratification. 'It was a hard struggle, else would I have
been with you sooner, this glad day.'

'Hard struggle—with whom?' I asked.

'With the Lady Barbara, in sooth. Since noon have I striven to render
her drowsy.' (So that was why poor Barbara had been so heavy-headed.)
'At last she has yielded, and her mortal frame is mine again. Are you
not rejoiced to be with me once more?'

Being in no position to decline the honour, I complied. We turned, and
paced along the beach together, leaving the cave behind us. I was
entirely obfuscated, and no wonder. Here was I, a lover, in a lover's
potential paradise, alone with my love and with all the omens
favourable, yet debarred from achieving any[Pg 200] tangible result owing to
the incredible and idiotic circumstance that the body of my beloved was
occupied for the moment by the spirit of some one else. Every time I
looked into Dido's face my heart swelled and beat, every time I listened
to her conversation it shrank and sank. The situation was intolerable: I
must do something about it. First and foremost I must discover:

'I can't say I do,' I replied. 'This is my first visit to your kingdom.'

The Queen turned her blue eyes full upon me, and sighed in a manner
which sent a chill of alarm down my spine.

'Not so,' she said. 'Three thousand years may have dimmed your
recollection, but assuredly you have been here before.' She sighed
again. 'Do you recollect nothing?'

'Nothing whatever,' I replied doggedly. Light was beginning to break in
upon me, but[Pg 201] only to reveal the quicksands which encompassed me.

'You have passed through many shapes since then,' continued Dido. 'You
have lived and loved in many centuries, many countries. Still, I had
hoped that you would remember me.' Her voice quivered.

It was here that I ought to have been firm. I should have continued to
maintain an appearance of complete oblivion—if necessary, of complete
indifference—to the past, until Dido gave me up as a bad job. But—hang
it all!—she was gazing at me with Barbara's eyes, and it was Barbara's
mouth that was trembling so pitifully. I began to weaken.

'You can recall nothing at all?' she murmured again.

'Perhaps,' I said pusillanimously, 'if you would help me, O Queen——'

Dido cheered up at once.

'That will I do right gladly,' she said. 'In what manner can I help?'

'Well, what was my name?'

'Thy name? Æneas! Æneas of Troy!'

'Oh—was it?'

Of course, I had suspected this all along. It had been clear for some
time that Dido regarded me as a reincarnation of somebody or other, and[Pg 202]
Æneas seemed to be indicated. Let me see, what sort of fellow had he
been? Pious Æneas, he was called. That was reassuring, anyhow. What
else? Father Æneas, somewhere. That, in my present situation, was all to
the good too; it introduced a reassuringly paternal note into our
relations. Memories of my youthful struggles with Vergil began to stir
within me: lines and phrases which had stuck through all the years.
Various episodes of my putative past came back.

'Do you remember now?' inquired an anxious voice in my ear.

'I begin to remember,' I said cautiously. 'Æneas came to Carthage from
Troy, didn't he?'

'You did come from Troy to Carthage, my lord!'

'All right, have it your own—I mean, be it as you will, O Queen. I came
with my ship——'

'With many ships—a noble argosy.'

'With many ships, then; and you—er—did me great honour.'

'Your presence was itself an honour. Do you recall how at the banquet
with which I celebrated your arrival you did recite to us the tale of
the Wooden Horse and the grievous fall of Troy?'

Æneid, Books Two and Three—the longest after-dinner speech on record!
I remembered it well: I had had to learn whole pages of it by heart, for
'rep.'

'Yes, I remember.'

'And the days and nights that followed?' pursued Dido.

'Some of them,' I said cautiously.

'And the hunting, and the feasting, and the tale you did tell me of your
great love——'

'My memories are still misty,' I hastened to remind her.

'They will clear anon. You say you do not recognise yonder headland?'

'No; I can't say I do.'

'It was from there that I watched your sails sink below the horizon,
that fatal morn. Why did you leave me, my lord?'

We had come suddenly and stunningly to point-blank range. But I was
ready for her this time.

'We are not masters of our own fate,' I remarked solemnly. 'Who was I to
disobey the gods? Such potent gods as—h'm—I mean, who was I to disobey
them? Rome had to be founded, and I had been chosen.'

'Then you did not leave me willingly?'

'Certainly not. That is'—I had suddenly[Pg 204] realised the insidious nature
of the question—'where Fate is concerned there can be no question of
willingness or unwillingness.'

'Your words are wise, my lord,' replied the Queen; and I marvelled that
any one could apply any kind of approbation to such drivel. 'But the
Rome that you did found has been dust for centuries. Rome is not;
Carthage is not. Their day is past. But we—we two—we are free
spirits—free and royal. The future is all our own.'

'Yes, I suppose it is,' I admitted apprehensively.

'Could not we establish a new kingdom, in some new country, and reign
together?' suggested Her Majesty coyly.

Obviously this notion must be discouraged at once. I decided to apply a
little cold common sense.

'We shouldn't see much of one another when Barbara happened to be
awake,' I pointed out.

The Queen did not appear to be impressed by this argument. She merely
goggled at me—so far as Barbara's eyes were capable of goggling—like a
sentimental flapper.

'I can always behold you, my lord,' she replied, 'whether I am visible
or not. As for my tenancy of the body of the Lady Barbara,[Pg 205] there is a
way to render that permanent, which I would reveal to you—if you were
willing!'

I began to feel thoroughly scared: this inexorable female seemed to have
thought of everything. I must go very carefully.

'Give me a little time, O Queen,' I said earnestly, 'to accustom my
vision to the radiance of your condescension.' (I really was getting
rather good at the stuff.)

'Assuredly time shall be given you,' replied Her Majesty graciously.
'What is time to me? Have I not waited centuries for you?'

This seemed a line of thought to be encouraged; so I said:

'Yes, indeed, O Queen. What, after all, is Time? What are a few years to
us—- or a few centuries, for that matter? Anyhow, I think it would be a
sound plan to postpone definite action until that poisonous mob—that
is, my present associates—- return to their own country.' Dido's eyes
flashed.

'Perhaps they will not return,' she said. 'I am minded to teach them a
lesson. Already they chafe beneath your mild rule——'

'How do you know?'

'Have I not moved among them myself, unseen, and heard them? This very
afternoon, when you had dismissed their guard and[Pg 206] left them, bidding
them merely to be of good behaviour during your absence, they called a
council.'

'I bet I know who took the chair,' I said.

'It was the gross man with the quivering jowl and the unceasing tongue,
who waves his right arm when he speaks.'

'That's Jubberley, all right. And what did they take counsel about?'

'First of all, touching the identity of the guards and attendants whom I
conjured up for your service, my lord.'

'The man with the battle-axe, and so on? Well, what did they make of
them?'

'They consulted another of their number, the man with the bird-like
head, who is for ever importuning others to sing and dance.'

'Oh, Podmore? So he has come back, has he? What did he say?'

'He did hazard the guess that these slaves and warriors of mine were
Subjective Phenomena, or some such incomprehensibility. But 'twas of you
they spoke chiefly, my lord. They think you are mad, and they would bind
you with cords.'

'Oh, would they? And who is going to do it?'

'The gross man was of opinion that if he[Pg 207] and the other four were to
fall upon you unawares they could achieve their purpose jointly.'

'I'm not so sure about that: I'm full of fight to-day.'

'So said another of the conspirators—the man with the face of a fish,
who boasts.'

'Oh, George Bumpstead? He said that, did he?'

'Yes; and he would have dissuaded them from their purpose——'

'I can believe that, without any difficulty whatever.'

'—saying that the mariners should be summoned from the pleasure-ship to
make the undertaking certain. But the others, especially the small man
in white raiment, deterred him, saying that the boat from the ship was
not due until the rise of the moon, and that unless you were placed
under duress forthwith the settled order of the day would be deranged
past recall.'

'Aha! The time-table for ever!'

'And in this decision he was supported by his son, who feared lest you
should do an injury to the young maiden who accompanies him so
constantly.'

'Little Lila? I wouldn't hurt her for the world. But what did they
decide to do in the end?'

'That I know not; for on that instant I found that I could render myself
visible at will, and I realised that the Lady Barbara had at last
succumbed to sleep in her cavern. So, eager to enjoy so fair an
opportunity to appear to you, I hastened hither, my dear lord.' Her
Majesty favoured me with an affectionate but unnerving smirk. 'And
that,' she concluded, 'is why I would fain read them a lesson.'

'What sort of lesson do you propose to administer?' I inquired, not
without anxiety.

'Would death be too severe a penalty, think you? Death by torture?' Her
voice dropped to a coo of gentle entreaty.

'What kind of torture?' I spoke carelessly, for I knew Dido was just the
sort of person to react strongly to opposition.

'Why do you ask me?'

'Because torture is getting a little old-fashioned now, you know. What
variety had you in mind?'

'Torture by fire, such as was practised by the priests of Moloch and
Tainit when I reigned in Carthage. The outstretched hands of Moloch are
heated red-hot, and the victims are laid thereon, one by one——'

'I think that would be rather overdoing it,'[Pg 209] I said judicially. 'I
mean, the day for such methods is past, O Queen.'

'Then will we revive the past!' replied Dido proudly. 'When night falls,
and sleep comes to the dwellers upon this coast, I will summon the
spirits of my departed priests and warriors, and they shall occupy the
bodies of such slumberers as they may require, and join us in the cave,
where we will constitute first a Court of Justice, and thereafter a
Temple of Expiation, that execution may follow sentence without
unnecessary delay.'

I began to feel really alarmed: Dido was taking this retaliation
business much too seriously. So far as I was concerned, my account with
my shipmates had been more than settled by my exceedingly enjoyable
afternoon. Even the knowledge that they were now conspiring to bind me
with cords failed to rouse anything more than a faint feeling of
resentment in my mind. But my royal companion, it seemed, was only just
settling into her stride. I coughed throatily.

'You are a lady of initiative and resource, O Queen,' I began; 'but——'

'You speak truth.' She was off again. 'In the days when I was Queen,
Carthage was indeed a queenly city; and Carthage was my[Pg 210] own creation.
When I landed upon these shores I was an exile, and almost alone. My
father, King Mutto, I had left behind me in Tyre; my husband——'

'What was your father's name?' I asked incredulously.

'King Mutto. Do you not recognise the name?'

'It seems vaguely familiar. And your husband—was he called Jeffo, by
any chance?'

'Nay; his name was Sychæus. He was slain by my brother Pygmalion; and to
escape the doom which would assuredly fall upon Pygmalion, and mayhap
myself, I fled to Cyprus, and thence to Africa. Here I purchased ground
from the chieftain Iarbas—that tale, too, will bear telling, but not
now—and founded the city which for nearly five hundred years ruled the
world; whose sons penetrated beyond the Pillars of Hercules to the Tin
Islands in the north and to the Land of the Baboons in the south. And
all this was my doing, mine! for it was I who made Carthage great. The
Temples were my work; the Granaries and the Reservoirs were my work; the
ships were my work; the priests and the people were my children, to
direct as I would!' Queen Dido drew herself up to her full height,
looking very[Pg 211] majestic indeed. She might be old-fashioned in some of her
ideas, but as her own press-agent she stood in no need, I realised, of
modern assistance.

'To-night,' she concluded, 'I will call these to life again, or such
members thereof as may best serve your needs, my dear lord. Then will we
deal faithfully with these miscreants. That done, you and I will be left
alone together. Alone—together!' Her Majesty came closer, practically
inviting me to grasp my opportunities.

But I had been thinking hard.

'You say you can't summon your priests and warriors until nightfall?' I
asked.

'Not until sleep has liberated the bodies of others for their use.'

I thought of my Scoto-Phœnician guardsman of the cook's mate with the
battle-axe, of the prehistoric prison wardress; and pictured them
reinforced by the riff-raff of the Tunisian coast and let loose upon
Jubberley and party.

I glanced westward: the sun was not far above the horizon. I still had
an hour or two.

'Do you mind if we stroll back towards the cave?' I asked, with forced
calm.

II

Once more we were outside the cave, in the declining rays of the evening
sun. I glanced up into the embrasure over the entrance, and thought I
saw a figure move; but when I looked again it was gone.

The problem now arose of what to do with Dido. I realised that it would
be quite impossible to pass her off to the others as Barbara, even if I
wished to. In any case, I wanted five minutes alone with my shipmates,
to warn them of their impending danger and urge them to re-embark with
all speed.

'That is true,' said Dido complacently. 'But there is no need for you to
go alone: I will render myself invisible. Come!' In a twinkling she had
disappeared from my sight.

'I am with you,' said her voice reassuringly.

Feeling thoroughly helpless and getting really frightened, I advanced to
the mouth of the cave, and entered. Having penetrated the tortuous
opening, I paused and looked about[Pg 213] me, to accustom my eyes to the
failing light within.

Almost simultaneously there came a shout from above, and a heavy
body—eleven stone ten, to be precise—projected itself from the ledge
over the entrance on to the top of me. I went down like a ninepin, and
my forehead encountered a round stone lying half buried in the sand.

I obtain Ecclesiastical Preferment

I do not know how long I lay insensible, but it must have been for a
considerable time. When I had entered the cave the world was bathed, as
already recorded, in the slanting rays of the setting sun; when next I
found myself in a condition to notice anything at all, night had fallen
and complete darkness reigned.

Not that I was aware of this fact at the time: indeed, to my aching
vision there appeared to be a great deal too much light everywhere—or
rather, lights. The cave was full of people, and nearly every one
present seemed to be carrying a flaming, tossing torch. There were
torches round the walls, too, and a pair of blazing cressets up on the
stone platform. Full consciousness came later: for the moment, all I
realised was that I was lying upon a couch of some kind in a corner of
the cave, and that a round white arm supported my throbbing head, while
slim white fingers held a massive cup, with a metallic tang about the
flavour of it, to my lips. Long fair hair, with a faint[Pg 215] and pleasant
perfume, brushed against my face.

The liquid within the cup was cool and refreshing, and I helped myself
to a liberal draught. Then I said weakly:

'Thank you, Barbara.'

'He lives! My lord lives!' exclaimed an all too familiar voice, and the
arm beneath my head was deftly removed to enable the owner to strike an
attitude of dignified rapture.

'He lives! He lives! Our lord lives!' There came a mighty shout and a
crash of brass, and my head felt as if it had been riven asunder.

Silence promptly fell: evidently Her Majesty was no mean disciplinarian.

I now sat up, and endeavoured to take stock of my surroundings—with but
little success.

'I am blind,' I announced resentfully. My temperature was up, and I was
inclined to be fractious.

'Not so, my lord.' Dido's cool hand removed a wet bandage which was
swathing my forehead and obscuring my vision; and I opened my[Pg 216] eyes once
more. I closed them again immediately, not without reason.

The rocky walls of the cave had disappeared under rich hangings of
Tyrian purple, and the recesses opening out of the cave were each marked
by an archway composed of two mighty elephant tusks. The stone platform
was draped and carpeted, and upon it stood what looked like three golden
armchairs. The platform was unoccupied; but there were people everywhere
else, both men and women—all standing very still, and all with their
faces turned towards me.

I took the cup from Dido—it was of gold, with a great ruby embedded in
the bottom—and finished my medicine. I felt that I might need it. Then
I devoted further attention to the silent throng confronting me.

They were a strange, barbaric assembly. There were warriors, armed to
the teeth; there were young women in long white robes, their temples
bound by golden fillets. In the smoky background I could discern
coal-black torch-bearers and a row of trumpeters. There was another
white-robed contingent—bearded priests—standing in a group apart from
the rest. At their head I observed a venerable figure, clothed in the
gorgeous insignia of what I took to be a Phœnician pontiff. His
features[Pg 217] were oddly familiar, but in my present bemused condition I
took no immediate note of the fact. I surveyed the scene dreamily,
blinked once or twice, and turned to Dido, who was standing by my couch,
with a retinue of alluring damsels behind her.

'Who are these ladies and gentlemen?' I inquired.

'Subjects all, my lord—mine and thine!'

'You mean spoo—ghosts?'

'Not so. Their spirits are of the world beyond, but their bodies are
true flesh and blood, being recruited from among the sleeping populace
of this coast.'

'Sleeping? What time is it?'

'It is now the second hour of the night, my lord. The world about us is
wrapped in slumber: we have mortal envelopes and to spare. If more are
needed, I shall summon them.'

'I think we have enough to be going on with—I mean, sufficient unto our
needs. But I had no idea it was so late: I must have been knocked out
for quite a while.'

The company responded by another shout, accompanied by a clash of
weapons against shields which nearly brought about a relapse in the
object of their solicitude. However, I gripped the edges of the couch
and weathered the storm.

'What are they all here for?' I asked, when the echoes had died away.

'In the first place, my lord, to do you honour. Will you now be
invested?'

Befogged but docile, I smiled mechanically, and bowed my head.

'All ri—assuredly!' I said. To myself I added, in a husky whisper:
'This investment sounds like a bit of a speculation, old man!' and
giggled at my own feeble joke.

Dido promptly clapped her hands. Trumpets blared, and the group of
priests detached themselves from the main body and advanced towards us.
Instinctively I rose to my feet and came to the salute. It was a
military crime of the first magnitude, for I had nothing on my head but
my hair; but the solemnity of the occasion seemed to call for some kind
of demon[Pg 219]stration, however irregular. The priests responded by raising
their hands heavenwards, and then dropping them slowly to their sides in
a manner quaintly suggestive of an elementary Swedish breathing
exercise. All but their leader, that is: he took up a position facing
me, and stood bolt upright, being evidently too exalted to salute any
one. I found myself gazing straight into his face—the face of a
patriarchal old gentleman with a snub nose and a flowing white beard—a
face associated indelibly in my mind with a red tarboosh and a too
sociable joy-ride from Goletta to Carthage.

'Great Scott—Melchizedek!' I exclaimed.

He made no sign of recognition, which was perhaps not altogether
surprising, but I realised that here at least was the material form of
our self-appointed cicerone of the previous day, doing a little overtime
as the temporary habitation of the spirit of some long-dead High Priest
of Moloch. Certainly he made a majestic and imposing figure, and his
robes at least were clean. I gave him an especially smart salute, at
which he unbent to the extent of a stately inclination of the head.

'Array my lord for the ceremony,' continued the voice of Dido.

Next moment, to my unutterable embarrass[Pg 220]ment, I found myself in the
hands of a bevy of young priestesses, who with seamed brows and
preoccupied air proceeded to swathe me in many yards of clinging white
material. This they finished off with a species of ecclesiastical cope,
stiff with embroidery and jewels. Dido herself gave the crowning touch
by cramming down over my contused and aching brow a circlet of some
unyielding metallic substance which shone like gold and felt like lead.

A procession of temporarily embodied spirits was now formed, and,
looking like an unsuccessful compromise between the Queen of the May and
a candidate for promotion in some spurious order of Masonry, I was
conducted, amid the clash of arms and the braying of trumpets, up a
carpeted slope to the platform, where I was bidden to sit upon the
right-hand throne. Dido took her seat in the centre, with Melchizedek on
her left. Behind me, as immovable as ever, I was somewhat comforted to
note the presence of Rorison, or at any rate his alter ego. Could he
be of help in delivering me from my present predicament, I wondered? How
far was he substance and how far shadow, so to speak? There could be no
harm in asking him—assuming that he knew. I was about to do so, when
Dido rose to her feet.

Straightway through one of the arches of elephant tusks filed a dolorous
procession—the male members of the yachting party, and escort. Sir
James came first; then Jubberley, Jimmy, and Podmore: Bumpstead was
last. All were dishevelled and dirty, and I was interested to note that
each wore round his neck what appeared to be an iron collar, with a
chain attached, the end of which in each case was held by a gigantic
negro clad in a leopard skin. Jimmy appeared to have been engaged in a
battle of some magnitude, and to have lost it.

The quintette stumbled along, dazed or defiant, according to their
dispositions, until brought up by their leading-strings and jerked into
a line facing the platform. They looked about them in bewildered
fashion: it was quite obvious that they failed to recognise, in the
overdressed and self-conscious figure of fun seated upon the right of
the Chair, their late shipmate and butt, Leslie Miles.

They had hardly been herded into position when they were joined by the
lady members of the party, who entered from the opposite archway in
charge of my friend the prehistoric wardress. They were not wearing iron
collars, however. Lady Rumborough came first: her[Pg 222] hat was awry, but her
spirit was plainly unbroken. Gwen, Ophelia-like and appealing, lost no
time in making eyes at the nearest guard. Mrs. Dunham-Massey was
obviously too frightened to do anything at all, except totter to her
appointed place in the line. Lila looked like a little ghost, but her
face lit up when she saw Jimmy. She took her place beside him, and I saw
her hand slip into his.

At the tail of the procession shuffled a strange and barely recognisable
figure—a young girl with rippling brown hair and shining face, clad in
virgin white. With a start I recognised her: it was Arabella Hockley,
whom I myself had condemned a few hours ago to be washed, combed, and
deodorised. Well, whoever had undertaken the duty had made a most
creditable job of it.

Presently all were in place. The captive ladies were grouped on one side
of the stone slab in the centre of the floor, the men on the other. At a
sign from Melchizedek, a single note was blown upon a trumpet, after
which deep silence fell. It was an uncanny scene. Behind me, a few feet
away, rose a flat and curtained wall of rock. On my right stood a group
of young priestesses: these were balanced, upon the left, beyond the old
gentle[Pg 223]man, by a party of priests. At my feet, upon the floor of the
cave, stood my host, hostess, and messmates, looking absurd and
incongruous in their European clothes. Jubberley in particular, with his
scarlet cummerbund and Panama hat, was a blot upon the entire scene.
Beyond these stood a solid wall of armed and helmeted men—men with
swarthy complexions and curly black beards, looking as I have always
imagined Hannibal himself must have looked. These were flanked on either
side by heralds and trumpeters. All round the cave blazed great torches,
each held aloft by a gigantic, motionless Nubian slave. Beyond all came
the arched embrasure over the doorway, framing a patch of starry sky.
Certainly our august Mistress of Ceremonies had a pretty taste in
stage-management.

'What mean you, O Queen?' I replied—less because I wished to know than
to gain time. My head was aching infernally, and my wits were still
wandering. I seemed to be acting a part in a dream, and for the life of
me I could not tell whether I was asleep or awake.

But the sound of my voice created a fresh sensation: the prisoners were
fairly galvanised this time. There was a startled squeak from Arabella.

'It's Leslie!' she exclaimed.

'His Nibs!' gasped Bumpstead.

'He's wearing the tablecloth!' added Lady Rumborough, in a reverberating
undertone. A warning spear-butt crashed upon the floor of the cave,
within an inch of her ladyship's toes, and there was silence again. The
Queen resumed.

'I mean, my lord, shall we judge them all together, or severally?'

Instinctively I snatched at the opportunity for delay.

'Severally, most certainly,' I replied. 'But first of all, O Queen, I
crave a boon.'

'It is granted,' replied Dido graciously.

'Then release me that maiden,' I said, pointing to Lila. 'She has had no
part or lot in my torments. Moreover, she is the sister of the Lady
Barbara.'

Dido frowned: apparently neither Barbara nor Barbara's relations
appealed to her much. In fact, in so far as Royalty can be susceptible
to such weaknesses, it was growing increasingly apparent that Her
Majesty was just a little jealous of Barbara.

'Having promised,' observed Dido coldly, 'I will grant you your wish, my
lord. But ask no favours for the others.'

'You can do what you like with the others,' I said. I did not quite mean
this; but plainly here was an occasion when a good loud bark might save
serious bites later.

'Then the maiden is free to depart,' said Dido.

'I shan't!' announced Lila unexpectedly. 'Not without Jimmy! He was
nearly killed trying to rescue me just now, and I won't leave him.'

'You love this youth?' inquired the Queen, with her usual directness.

Twenty-four hours ago Lila, I am tolerably certain, would have died
rather than admit that any young man of her acquaintance was anything
more than 'rather a lamb.' But now she looked up into the Queen's face
and said, quite simply:

'Yes, I do.'

The Queen looked a little disconcerted, as[Pg 227] frequently happens when
people speak the truth. I interposed.

'Lila,' I said, 'come up by me: you'll do more good here than down
there.' Without a word the child mounted the platform and came to me. I
motioned to her to be seated, and she curled up on the floor beside my
chair, quaking.

The Queen rose to her feet, and advanced majestically to the edge of the
platform. I saw we were in for a real speech this time, and in a
confused way I felt sorry that Dido had not taken a fancy to Jubberley
instead of to me: then we could have committed Jubberley to her
permanent keeping and sailed away, leaving the pair to preach one
another to death.

'Listen,' she began. 'I, Dido, daughter of King Mutto of Tyre, foundress
and Queen of Carthage, have summoned this assembly—divers spirits from
the world of the departed—to aid me in executing judgment upon these
people, who have offended my lord here—the spirit, be it known, of my
lord Æneas, once of Troy, now housed in the body of a comely barbarian.'

There was a perceptible sensation among the company—due either to the
Queen's interesting revelation of my identity, or to her somewhat
ambiguous reference to my personal charms.

'You know me,' she continued, warming to her theme. 'You have known me
through centuries. You know that I was never one to be easily outwitted;
but rather that it was I who was wont to get the better of my enemies.'

'Have I related to you the tale of how I overreached Iarbas, in the
matter of the soil upon which Carthage was to be reared?' continued the
Queen.

'I bet she has!' I murmured to Lila. But old Melchizedek answered most
gallantly:

'Never, O Queen.'

'Well, then, it happened thus. That rapacious chieftain would have
denied me the smallest tract of land whereon to build my city. At
length, after long chaffering, we made a bargain that I might take as
much ground as a single ox-skin would cover. The old fox! But I humbled
him, I humbled him!'

'In what fashion, O Queen?' inquired the old gentleman, taking up an
obvious cue.

'I took the skin of an ox, as required, and I cut it into strips so fine
that I was able to fashion therefrom a raw-hide string many hundreds of[Pg 229]
cubits in length, with which I contrived to encompass a space of ground
ample for my purpose, whereon to build my citadel, my Byrsa! Was that
not good measure for a single ox-skin?'

There was laughter at this—genuine, appreciative, Semitic laughter.

'And now,' continued Dido, evidently much pleased with the reception of
this improbable anecdote, 'to the matter in hand—the punishment of
these malefactors. Their crime lies in this, that they have vexed my
lord here in divers ways, not by direct injury or bodily onset, but by
the foulness of their nature and the irritation of their presence. As my
father King Mutto once most wisely observed, the sting of an ant is less
easily avoided than the thrust of a javelin. My lord here is a warrior
of renown; no javelin could touch him, for his right arm would turn it
aside. But no right arm, however lusty, can avert the wearisome tale,
the vacant laugh, the shrewish tongue. To you and such as you my
father's words mean nothing, for your hides are thick and your spirits
gross. But my lord, whose skin is tender and whose spirit is rare—he
knows! He comprehends—for he has suffered!'

I was conscious of a sudden increase in my[Pg 230] respect for Her Majesty's
intelligence. She swept on, in a fearsome access of wrath.

'Who are you, then, any of you, that your noisome shadows should fall
athwart his path? Each of you offends him in a different fashion. None
is exempt. You, Heavy Jowl, with your interminable babble, are a windy
pestilence.' (I must say her taste in epithets amounted practically to a
gift.) 'You, Fish Face, are a boaster and a craven combined. You, Little
Greybeard, are but a dwarf of a man; and like most dwarfs, vain and over
fond of authority. You, Ship's Beak'—this to Podmore, who stood
brooding, with his long neck thrust forward, as if plunged in
psychological meditation—'are but a poor witless zany, a child in man's
apparel—or half apparel!' ('That's one for his knickerbockers!' I
reflected.) 'You, Stripling'—Jimmy reddened—'have yet to acquire the
first virtue of Youth, Humility. Until that is achieved, you will remain
what you are, an offence and an irritation to grown men. You, Old
Hag'—Her Majesty turned upon Lady Rumborough—- 'are mean and miserly,
even to the cozening of your fellows at games of skill or chance.'

'Did you not comprehend me?' said Dido, obviously a little annoyed that
any of her good things should be wasted.

'She is an old woman, O Queen, and hard of hearing,' I mentioned, not
without malice.

'I thank thee, my lord. Let two slaves raise her up and hold her nearer
to me.'

'I heard!' shouted Lady Rumborough hurriedly.

'It is well.' Her Majesty turned to Mrs. Dunham-Massey.

'You are a liar,' she announced simply, 'employing the truth only when
it is unsavoury, or painful to others. Your face is painted and your
hair is false, thus resembling your heart. As for you'—she had reached
Gwen now—'you are a poor thing, given entirely to the exercise of
woman's arts, yet failing miserably. You seek to entice, to beguile, to
ensnare, by every agelong device; yet true men shrink from you, and only
the uncouth or the senile are allured.'

This was too much for Gwen.

'Oh, Barbara darling,' she moaned, 'don't be brutal! Poor little——'

'I am not the Lady Barbara,' replied the Queen, in a tone of real
annoyance this time.

'No, dear, of course you're not,' said Gwen[Pg 232] abjectly, and turned what
can best be described as an S.O.S. eye upon Bumpstead. But Bumpstead
obviously had no sympathy to spare for any one but himself.

'And keep silent!' commanded Dido. 'If men can hold their peace when
rebuked, why not women?' And with this perfectly reasonable query she
turned upon the last remaining member of the group, the cowering
Arabella.

'You,' she observed briefly, 'are but a little pigling, rooting in the
earth for beechnuts.' Then she raised her hand aloft. 'Finally, all of
you, hear this. My lord, your master, is a man among men, a man of rare
and lofty spirit; but he lacks the assurance, or the inclination, to be
for ever rebuking insolence or answering folly. Such men are made at
times to appear at a disadvantage in the presence of noisy or arrogant
fools. So it is with my lord: he has long suffered you, because you are
not worthy to be answered; but now the time for suffering is past and
the time of retribution approaches'—she swung a terrifying finger down
the line—'for you, and you, and you, and you!'

'Oh, what an awful tell'n-off!' murmured a hoarse voice behind me. It
summed up the situation admirably.

'No, dear, of course it isn't. She's only using Barbara's—— Oh, Lord,
she's off again!'

'And so,' pursued Dido, with stately gusto, 'in that you are worthless
dogs, ungrateful for benefits received, and for ever disturbing the
peace of your master's spirit, my sentence is that you do now die—- all
of you—in great torment!'

I had anticipated some such announcement as this, so I was not greatly
surprised to hear it. But it gave the party round the slab something to
think about. They looked at one another; then up at Dido; then broke
into angry or fearful remonstrances. But the Queen held up a commanding
hand, and silence reigned in a moment.

'This shall be the manner of your death,' she announced. 'Beneath this
cave lies another cave, which was in the days of old a hidden temple,
dedicated to the observance of the most secret and sacred rights of
Moloch—Moloch the Mighty!'

There came a great clash of arms and a shout, evidently the local
equivalent for 'Hoch der Kaiser!'—or, under a more recent civilisation,
'Attaboy, Moloch!'

'Beneath our feet at this moment,' continued the Queen impressively,
'the ancient fires have been rekindled, and the god waits, with brazen
hands outstretched and newly heated, in readiness to receive his
rightful offerings. Behold!'

As she spoke, the great slab of rock in the centre of the cave sank down
out of sight, and through the rectangular opening now revealed streamed
a red glowing light, accompanied by the sound of chanting and something
suspiciously resembling the roar of flames. The prisoners started back,
with the ready acquiescence of their custodians—who, in fact, headed
the retirement.

Jubberley alone stood fast. With massive deliberation he adjusted his
pince-nez and peered down into the glowing chamber beneath. What he
saw I do not know, for I myself was out of the line of sight; but, after
a careful scrutiny, he removed his pince-nez and looked up at the
Queen.

'This,' he announced, with simple dignity, 'is an international
outrage.'

But at this moment, in obedience to a signal from the Queen, Jubberley's
escort gave a savage tug at his chain, and Jubberley shot rearward, in
the manner of a too enterprising monkey summoned back to its organ. But
from[Pg 235] that moment I conceived a sneaking affection for Jubberley: he was
at least consistent, and consistency sometimes means pluck.

The situation was obviously critical. The heat of the furnace rose into
the cave: the atmosphere was growing oppressive. Dido had resumed her
seat, and was engaged in earnest consultation with old Melchizedek,
presenting me only with her right shoulder. My eyes fell upon Lila,
crouching wide-eyed beside me; and suddenly into my confused and aching
head came inspiration—a way of escape—the only way I could think of.

'Lila,' I whispered rapidly, 'listen to me. Where is Barbara—the real
Barbara?'

'I haven't seen her since lunch. But she said she was going to sleep.'

'Where?'

'In a sort of cell down that passage'—Lila indicated an opening in the
rock directly behind us, half veiled by purple hangings—'quite a long
way from here. We found it this morning: she said it looked a lovely
place for a nap.'

'Very well, then. Now listen. The first chance you get, slip away and
streak down that passage as hard as you can——'

'It's so dark, Leslie!' said Lila, slipping a froggy little hand into
mine.

'Here are my matches. Find Barbara; and whatever you do, wake her! Shake
her, beat her, pour water on her; but wake her up, and see that she
doesn't go to sleep again! It's our only—— No! Stop! Great heavens,
that's no use! You won't be able to see her! She's not there: at least,
her body isn't, unless a body can be in two places at—— Her soul's
there, of course; but I don't know whether a soul's visible or—— No,
I'm not potty, Lila: I'm just up against it. I'll explain later. I have
it! Go down the passage and shout! Scream! Make a noise! Can you whistle
on two fingers?'

'I used to.'

'Then go and do it! Don't ask me to explain now, but go quickly!
Everything depends on you! I can't get away yet: I have to handle this
crowd here. But I'll come after you as soon as I possibly can.'

'Righto!' said Lila, squeezing my hand.

'Brave kid!' I turned to the Caledonian spectre behind me. 'Rorison!' I
said.

'Sirr!'

'I have a job for you.'

'Varra good, sirr.' Thank Heaven, the Scot still triumphed over the
Phœnician.

'Then listen. Get out of here as quickly as[Pg 237] you can, and go down to the
beach. There you will find the boats, waiting to take us back to the
yacht. Tell one of the crews to take you on board at once. When you get
there, tell the captain from me to sound his siren—fire off that little
gun on the bridge-deck—send up rockets—make all the hullabaloo he
can—and keep on doing it for at least five minutes! You understand?'

Réveillé

'Stop!' I thundered.

I suppose I must have sounded impressive, because they stopped. It was
just as well for George Bumpstead that they did so. By 'they,' I mean
two massive Ethiopians who were swinging him, in a fashion reminiscent
of the infant pastime of Honeypots, over the glowing aperture in the
floor, apparently with the immediate intention of contributing him as a
preliminary offering to the sacrificial orgies in progress below.
Needless to say, our noted explorer, big-game hunter, pioneer, and mimic
was bawling for mercy.

'Stop!' I repeated, 'and put that man back where you found him.'

At a sign from the Queen, George was unceremoniously dumped upon the
floor of the cave, where he remained with his eyes shut and his mouth
wide open, not sure, as yet, that he was not already in the arms of
Moloch. Dido turned to me.

'Have I displeased you, my lord?' she inquired, with a note of implied
reproach in her voice. 'Would you have the victims offered in some other
order? The women first, mayhap?' She eyed Gwen, lingeringly.

I thought, furiously. Obviously my only hope was to play for time. Our
one chance of salvation from the crazy, incredible predicament in which
we found ourselves rested upon the fact that our present custodians were
themselves but temporary custodians of their own bodies and equipment.
If we could only keep them in play until the lease expired, as it were,
we might yet find ourselves back in the yacht, and the sinister,
mysterious coast of Africa hull down upon the horizon—for ever, so far
as I was concerned.

'You would set him aside, mayhap, until the last,' she suggested, 'to be
submitted to[Pg 240] a more lingering torture, as being the most vile?'

'That is exactly my purpose,' I replied, untruthfully but gratefully;
for Dido had given me an idea. 'With your gracious permission we will
now make out the order of going in—that is, arrange these captives in a
certain sequence of guilt; after which we will proceed to sacrifice them
one by one, commencing with those of lesser importance and concluding
with the most pois——culpable.' I spoke in full consciousness of the
fact that to publish a list of one's friends in their correct order of
undesirability is apt to be an invidious business, and would recoil upon
me heavily if any of us lived to look back upon this day. But the
operation ought to be good for a quarter of an hour's waste of time, at
least.

And so it proved. Amid the respectful silence of all present, Dido and I
now embarked upon a lengthy discussion of the exact sequence in which
our victims should be presented to Moloch—an exercise not without a
certain piquancy of its own, conducted as it was in the full hearing of
those chiefly interested in the result. The following was our final
decision. The choice was really Dido's, for I had made a point, after
consuming a reasonable amount of[Pg 241] time in argument, of acquiescing in
her more obvious preferences. If I had had a free hand in the matter,
Jubberley for one would have had a higher place on the list. However,
here is the complete roster, with my own mental comments appended:

1. Gwen. (Evidently considered more of a rival in my affections
than Her Majesty cares to admit.)

2. Lady Rumborough. (That's what comes of pretending to be deaf,
your Ladyship!)

3. Arabella Hockley. (Arabella, Dido is jealous even of you! You
see what a wash and brush-up can do for the meanest of us.)

4. Mrs. Dunham-Massey. (She's evidently here because she's a
woman, and therefore comes before any of the men. But it's not
much of a compliment to be last on any list of one's sex.)

5. George Bumpstead. (Carried unanimously.)

6. Jimmy. (He's here because he resisted the Carthaginian police
in the execution of their duty, I fancy.)

7. Podmore. (Surprisingly high on the list. I should have called
him the least offensive of the lot—if I hadn't known him.)

8. Sir James. (Ought to be higher.)

9. Jubberley. (Ought to be much higher. However, his position
here entitles him to open the innings to Moloch's bowling; so that's
all right.)

'And now,' commanded Dido, with renewed enthusiasm, 'seize the
prisoners, and set them in one row, in the appointed order of
sacrifice.'

The convention was showing an unpleasant tendency to become executive
again; but I had another shot in my locker.

'I have a humble suggestion to make. O Queen,' I said.

'Humility is not for one so exalted,' replied the Queen. Evidently she
was in a high good temper again. 'What is your suggestion, my lord? You
have but to utter it and it shall be fulfilled. Speak!'

I bowed, more cautiously this time, and inclined an anxious ear towards
the rocky arch behind me. I was rewarded. Down the tortuous passage,
muffled but distinct, came the sound of a whistle—a street urchin's
two-[Pg 243]fingered whistle. Well done, Lila! I must persevere at all costs
now.

'It is not meet,' I said, raising my eyes to the Queen's again, 'that
these victims should go to Moloch dishevelled, unkempt, and fasting. It
is therefore my suggestion, O Queen, that they be supplied with food,
drink, and suitable apparel; after which they shall sing and dance for
the edification of the company. In this manner their hearts will be
attuned to the greatness of the occasion, and they will participate in
the final ceremony with the requisite degree of zest and enthusiasm.'

I ceased, and waited, with my heart in my mouth. But Dido nodded,
approvingly.

'Well spoken!' she cried. 'Let meat and drink be brought; and let the
Temple maidens array these barbarians for their final revels.'

Five minutes later the young ladies from the Trying-on Department,
through whose hands I had so recently passed, were busy at their duties
again—fitting a saffron-coloured bandeau round Jubberley's head,
swathing Lady Rumborough in clinging draperies, and equipping George
Bumpstead with a species of tambourine. Slaves entered, with roasted
meats and flagons of wine, of which the party were com[Pg 244]manded to
partake. They appeared to have little appetite for solid food, though I
noticed that the gentlemen drained all the goblets within reach.

'They do eat but sparingly, my lord,' observed the Queen, in the tones
of a disappointed suburban hostess.

'I will exhort them,' I said, availing myself of an opportunity for
which I had long been waiting; and stepped down into the arena.

'Dogs! Offal! Vermin!' I began genially, 'would you disdain Her
Majesty's bounty? Eat! Stuff! Gorge yourselves!' (Then, under my breath,
'Go on! Pretend to eat, and take as long over it as you can!) The Great
God Moloch is minded to receive you; and to Moloch you shall go! But you
shall not go fasting nor lamenting: you shall go well primed, singing
and dancing, and with cheerful countenances! (Go on, Podmore; take a
bone, and gnaw it! I dare say you are a vegetarian; but it's better to
be carnivorous than dead!) Eat! Drink! Be merry! In other words, get on
with it! And you, O Bride of Moloch, rejoice! (I'm talking to you, Mrs.
Massey. What? Yes, I know it's goat; but the more you eat the longer
you'll live. Wash it down with some of this wine: it isn't half[Pg 245] bad.)
Ho, slaves! another slice of roasted flesh for this nobleman! (Slip into
it, George! If you stop eating they'll give you to Moloch right away!)
Drink up, all of you! Drink to Her Majesty, Queen Dido of Carthage, and
your better acquaintance with the God Moloch! Hoch! Hoch! Hoch! Yoicks!
(Come on; back me up! Play for time; we're all in the same boat!)'

And so, shouting, swaggering, whispering, prompting, I passed from one
to another, scattering instruction and encouragement as best I could. It
was an uphill business, but I succeeded in this fashion in eking out
another five minutes. Then I turned to the platform again, and addressed
Dido.

Swiftly in my mind I ran over the repertoire of my talented troupe. To
my recollection came the accursed memory of a certain raucous part-song,
conducted by Podmore and rendered by a full choir just outside my cabin
door, at some unearthly morning hour, only two days previously.

'They will sing,' I announced, 'a Hymn to the Dawn—an Ode to the Rising
Sun—- as is their invariable custom at the break of day in their
distant, smiling land. For the last time shall they sing it, before
entering into the everlasting sunshine of Moloch's presence. And
furthermore, while they sing they shall dance—one of the stately,
mystic, symbolic interpretations of their own religious beliefs. I
myself will direct their movements.'

I turned, and snatched Podmore's white umbrella from his hand.

'I'll beat time with this,' I said. 'And all of you,' I added, in a low
voice, 'if you value your skins, back me up and keep the flag flying!
It's up to you! I've sent for a rescue party, and you've got to carry on
until they arrive. So,' I concluded hysterically, 'mix yourselves up in
it!'

Grasping my improvised bâton firmly in my right hand, I remounted the
platform, and, after directing towards Dido the superb obeisance of an
eminent chef d'orchestre, rapped sharply upon the arm of my throne,
which stood conveniently adjacent.

'Now,' I said, 'one, two, three.——!'

Next moment Jubberley and Lady Rumborough were leading the ladies of the
party in a morris-dance, to an accompaniment supplied[Pg 247] by a male
quartette consisting of Podmore, Bumpstead, Jimmy, and Sir James, united
in a frenzied and sforzando rendering of Hail, Smiling Morn!

The ensuing five minutes I shall never forget. Even now, at this distant
date, I sometimes throw back my head and dissolve into helpless laughter
at the very recollection of the scene. (I did so in the middle of the
Te Deum in church only last Sunday, to the open shame of my wife.) I
do not know which intrigued me most—the glistening foreheads, wide-open
mouths, and tightly closed eyes of the glee party, conscientiously
yelling themselves hoarse, or the baleful glare and reluctant
sprightliness of Lady Rumborough, or the tearful abandon of Gwen and
Mrs. Dunham-Massey, or the panic-stricken pirouettings of Jubberley.
Each was pure joy, and each will remain with me while I live.

Frantically I swung my umbrella: hoarsely I exhorted the performers. The
cave rang with our cries; the rocky floor shook beneath our
feet—beneath Jubberley's, anyhow. Dido and her Court looked on
motionless and fascinated, as well they might; but I paid no heed to
them. My attention was focussed on hearing rather than seeing.

At last—suddenly, faintly, but distinctly—above the sound of our most
lamentable revelry, I heard the boom of a gun. Directly afterwards
followed the long-drawn howl of the ship's siren. At the same moment the
black darkness in the embrasure above the doorway, directly in front of
me, was illuminated by a greenish flare, as a star-shell burst in the
sky. My heart leaped: the inestimable Rorison had reached the yacht and
delivered my message. We had a fighting chance now.

I glanced hastily round the cave. Already gaps were observable here and
there in the ranks of Dido's supporters. Thank Heaven for light
sleepers! Even as I gazed, a burly Nubian faded slowly from my sight,
and a slave-girl went out like the flame of a candle.

Had the others noticed? Feverishly I scanned their faces. No, apparently
not: their attention was focussed upon the unearthly cabaret show which
my poor friends were giving on the floor. It must not be allowed to
relax.

'Come on!' I shouted, redoubling my antics. 'Step out, Jubberley, my
lad; put some ginger into it! Point your toe, Lady Rumborough; and kick
up a bit more behind! Wave your little handkerchiefs, Gwen! Arabella, if
I have to come down to you with this[Pg 249] umbrella—that's better, my girl!
Sing up, Bumpstead! Open your mouth and roar it a bit more! Jimmy, give
him a kick on the shins! That's better, Bumpstead; that's nearly an
octave higher! Fine! Capital! Splendid!' (Our Carthaginian friends were
still thinning out, for pandemonium reigned in the bay outside. I slid a
furtive eye round in Dido's direction, hoping against hope; but no,
there she sat, as massive as ever, brooding majestically over the
revels. I wondered what luck Lila was having.) 'Now, then, you Glee
Club, do it all over again! Unanimous encore, by request! Get down to
it! "Hail, Smiling Morn, Smiling Mor-hor-hor-hor-horn!" Sing up, you
four dumb-bells—sing the roof off—or Moloch'll get you to a
certainty!'

I stormed on, for another few minutes. There was a mere handful of
guards left now. Practically all the temple maidens had disappeared;
girls are wakeful creatures, I suppose. I glanced over my shoulder
again: I was rewarded by the spectacle of old Melchizedek suddenly
turning translucent before my eyes, and then evaporating to nothing,
like a 'fade-out' in the movies. Unfortunately Dido, sitting elbow to
elbow with him, observed his disappearance too. She sprang to her feet,[Pg 250]
gave a scared glance round the cave, and rushed to the edge of the
platform.

'Cease!' she cried. 'Cease these senseless prancings! To your duty,
guards! To Moloch with these steaming Corybants!'

She turned to me, and pointing out, through the opening opposite to us,
to a remarkably decorative shower of Mr. Brock's best Golden Rain which
was descending from the heavens at the moment, shrieked excitedly:

'Look, my lord! Look and listen! This is devil's work! The sky is
ablaze, and the noises of hell are let loose. The gods have frowned upon
our love! The whole coast-line will be awake ere long; and then—what?
See, my guards fade away from me, one by one! Even I am not secure.
Supposing the Lady Barbara——' Dido clasped her hands frantically. 'But
no, it shall not be! My myrmidons may go from me, but I myself will
remain—I must remain—with you, my lord! I know what must be done:
there is no time to waste. Come quick!' She seized my hand and began to
drag me towards the rocky passage leading to Barbara's cell.

'What are we going to do?' I asked.

'Do?' she panted. 'We go to render my tenancy of the Lady Barbara's fair
body final[Pg 251] and complete. I know an infallible means whereby to prolong
her slumber——'

'No, by Jove, you don't!' I shouted, grabbing her wrist, and
endeavouring to pull her back. 'You just stay here, O Queen, and leave
Barbara alone. Don't be silly! The idea! Do you think I'm going to let
you touch a hair of her beautiful head?' I turned to my exhausted and
bewildered companions on the floor. 'Come on, you fellows; don't stand
gaping there. Come and give me a hand, or Barbara's for it!'

'Love her? Of course I do,' I said, 'better than anything in this
world!'

It was a tactless avowal, I admit. Dido promptly stepped back three
paces, and levelled a forefinger straight at my eyes.

'I knew it! Then shall she die!' she announced, through set teeth. 'As
for you, my lord—stand fast upon that very spot, till I return for
you!'

'Not on your life!' I plunged forward to stop her. As I did so, I was
conscious of a tremendous shock—a shock such as a man[Pg 252] might receive
through touching a third rail or a giant Leyden jar. Next moment Dido
had disappeared down the passage, and I found myself fixed, rooted,
helpless, immovable, staring impotently after her. Stir a foot I could
not: I seemed to have been turned to a statue. Still, my tongue was
free.

'Come on, you poops!' I yelled to my friends.
'Jimmy—Bumpstead—somebody—get after her! She's going to do Barbara
in!... No, by Jove, she's back again!'

The purple hangings were gone, and the figure of Dido was visible once
more, framed in the rocky opening. But, oh joy! her expression had
softened. Her lips were parted in a smile: her eyes were shining and
dewy, as of a child refreshed with sleep. I felt my stiffened limbs
relax; I held out appealing arms.

'Why, Leslie,' asked Barbara, coming to me and putting a supporting arm
round me, 'what's the matter? Lila told me you wanted me, so I came as
quickly as I could. Lean on me, old boy, and I'll find you somewhere to
lie down.'

I saved her the trouble by sliding to the floor in a nerveless heap. I
had been a delirious man all evening, and this was the end.

Barbara supported my head with her arm. I opened my eyes and looked
mistily about me. Outside utter silence and darkness reigned once more.
Within, the golden chairs had dissolved, the purple hangings were gone;
the stone slab was back in its place; and the cave was empty, save for
the presence of my late concert party, gazing at us in unspeakable
obfuscation from the floor.

'Keep awake till Christmas, if you can, Barbara,' I croaked: 'at least,
until we can get out of this!'

Barbara laughed unsteadily, and patted my hand.

'All right, old fellow. Go to sleep now,' she said.

'I knew it was Mrs. Hatton all the time!' boomed the voice of Lady
Rumborough triumphantly. That was the last thing I remember.

Podmore on Poltergeists

I came to myself in my own bed, in my own cabin, on board the yacht. The
sun was shining brightly outside; a pleasant breeze stirred the little
curtains at my window; and the motion of the vessel made it clear that
we were at sea again.

I opened my eyes sleepily, for the purpose of taking in my bearings.
Having accomplished this end, I closed them again, and proceeded, as
well as I could, to appreciate the situation, as they say in the army.
It was not too easy, for my mind was a welter of confused recollections
and tangled emotions.

First of all, how many of my recent experiences were genuine? Had I
dreamed the whole thing? If so, how long had the dream lasted? What day
was it now? If it was the day which I thought was yesterday, we were all
warned for a shore excursion at nine a.m. But here we were at sea: what
about that? It was all very confusing.

I put my hand to my forehead, which was[Pg 255] throbbing a little, and
encountered a protuberance about the size of a pigeon's egg. The
discovery clarified the situation marvellously. It awoke my
recollections, as it were, with a cold sponge; and the whole jumbled
story sprang into coherent and continuous shape. Everything came back to
me; or nearly everything—the vigorous and somewhat original measures I
had taken to discipline my companions; my involuntary and embarrassing
partnership with Dido; Jimmy's counter-attack, and the subsequent damage
to my occiput. Finally, the mobilisation of Dido's ghostly bodyguard,
and the incredible ceremony which had concluded the evening's
adventures.

Had these things happened, or had I dreamed them? Some of them must have
happened; the pigeon's egg was a guarantee of that. In any case the tale
was incomplete: it had no ending. I remembered sending Lila to look for
Barbara, and Rorison to rouse the yacht. What next, what next? Had
Barbara appeared? had Rorison——?

At this moment my cabin door opened cautiously, and the granite features
of Rorison, softened by a certain unaccustomed solicitude, were
discernible in the aperture.

'Yes, sirr.' My henchman entered delicately, carrying a can of hot water
and a cup of tea. 'Are you feeling any better, sirr?' he inquired, in
the voice which he keeps for funerals.

'I am feeling all right,' I replied irritably, 'except for a buzzing in
the head. Why?'

'Do you not mind last night, sirr?'

'I remember some of it. By the way, when did I come on board? And—how
did I come on board?'

'With the others, sirr, about midnight: you were being carrit on a
boat's grating. They was all varra quiet like, but the young leddy told
me you had had a dunt on the heid from a stane. You were pitten to bed
by Mrs. Hatton, and she told me just to let you sleep. She said this
coast was a grand place for sleep.'

'She ought to know,' I remarked thoughtfully.

'I was terrible sleepy myself,' continued Rorison, conversationally.
'Yesterday efternoon, when you sent me back on board, I was that heavy
in the heid that I went to my bunk, and I never stirred until I heard
the siren blawin', aboot the back of eleven o'clock, and fireworks gaun'
off.'

'Goin' on for twa o'clock, sirr. The pairty is just sitting doon tae
their lunches. They was all varra late this morning, and they've only
just gotten thegither.'

'Lunch, eh! In that case I'll take a turn on deck while there's room.
Get me a bath, while I shave.'

'Are you not for any lunch, sirr?'

'No, thanks. I want to go somewhere quiet, to think. Tea and a biscuit
will do.'

'Varra good, sirr.'

'By the way, have you seen Mrs. Hatton this morning?'

'No, sirr; but I heard the young leddy tell'n her leddyship that Mrs.
Hatton was not coming on the deck until the efternoon. She was feelin'
kin' of tired.'

Tired? After the double life Barbara had been leading, no wonder!

'All right,' I said, and proceeded to my toilet.

Twenty minutes later I was entrenched in my favourite refuge, on the top
of the chart-house, basking in the sun with my back against[Pg 258] a coil of
spare hawser, and reviewing the events of the past twenty-four
hours—placidly on the whole, and gratefully. I was placid because the
coast of Africa had sunk from sight, and we were, I devoutly hoped, by
this time well beyond the radius of Dido's ghostly influence. Moreover,
I was shortly going to see Barbara. I wanted to compare notes with her;
I wanted to know if she had received her body back intact, or whether
she was feeling any the worse for Dido's exertions. Presumably she was,
or she would have been on deck by this time. But, late or early, in
whatever shape she came, I was all on fire to see her again; for my
recent adventures, if they had done nothing else, had awakened me once
and for all to the realisation of what Barbara meant to me. That was why
I felt grateful.

About the rest of the ship's company I thought very little, although I
was fully conscious by this time that my temporary lease of a thick skin
and an aggressive disposition had expired, and that when next I
encountered the gang I should be as complete a worm in their presence as
ever; so I was in no hurry to encounter any of them. All I wanted was
Barbara, Barbara, Barbara. If she and I could only enter into a mutually
protective alliance——

There came a babble of voices from the companionway, and the lunchers
swarmed upon deck, followed by Rorison carrying tinkling coffee-cups on
a tray.

'Serve the coffee here, Rorison, out of the wind,' commanded the voice
of Lady Rumborough; 'and tell the sailors to bring more chairs.'

'Varra good, mem.'

I peered down from my eyrie. To my extreme annoyance, the entire party
had selected the lee of the chart-house for their post-prandial
symposium, which experience told me would be a lengthy and boring
affair. However, they would at least have a new topic to discuss.

And so it proved. Escape being impossible, I lay back with closed eyes,
and smoked.

'If you were to ask me,' commented Jimmy, 'I should describe the
function as a first-class funeral. It was almost as bad as the one in
the cave.'

'No one said a word,' added Lila.

'We were all feeling a bit chippy—what?' This from George Bumpstead.

'We had much to occupy our thoughts,'[Pg 260] remarked Podmore, in gentle but
portentous tones.

'That is all over now,' chirped Sir James—'quite over! There is
something extraordinarily healthy and reassuring about finding one's
self upon one's own quarter-deck again.' He snuffed the gentle breeze,
audibly. 'After all, a home on the rolling deep is the only normal——'

'A wet sheet and a flowing sea, as it were?' suggested Jubberley
helpfully.

'Precisely. We are ourselves once more. Four bells, and a fair breeze
from the——that is,' said Sir James abruptly, as if his custodian of
last night had suddenly tweaked his chain, 'it has just struck two
o'clock, and the weather is most—er—clement.'

'Still,' continued Lady Rumborough, who as usual had not allowed her
train of thought to be interrupted by the conversation of others, 'I
can't help wondering where he hired them all from, and how they
disappeared so suddenly.'

'Them, mother?' inquired Jimmy's voice. 'Who?'

'That crowd of natives, all dressed up as something. Where did they all
go to?'

'Now I think of it,' added the voice of George[Pg 261] Bumpstead, strangely
subdued, 'they did disappear rather funnily. Sort of clicked out.'

There was an impressive silence: evidently the company were recollecting
things.

'Couldn't have—done the things they did. I saw a great fat priest
simply go pop, like a balloon, and disappear!'

'Oh, shut up, Jimmy!' said Bumpstead earnestly.

'But I did. Didn't you, Gwen?'

'Jimmy, don't tease me any more. I'm feeling dreadful!'

'Well, then—Jubberley?'

'I was too deeply preoccupied,' replied Jubberley, 'with the outrageous
treatment to which we were being subjected—supplemented as it was by
personal discomfort and indignity of the most unpardonable character—to
take any particular note of the actual personnel of the——'

Jimmy interrupted him.

'Here's my idea,' he said. 'I believe they were all a bunch of cinema
people, doing a film about a Sheikh, or something; and Leslie came[Pg 262]
across them and hired them for the day. What do you think, Mr. Podmore?'

There was another silence, and then Mr. Podmore's reedy voice was
uplifted, in subdued and solemn rapture.

'Do you think they were there at all,' he asked—'in a physical sense?'

'Of course they were!' Lady Rumborough was speaking again, with
justifiable impatience. 'Didn't we all see them—Leslie Miles dressed up
in a tablecloth and behaving like a madman; and Barbara in a bath-robe,
walking in her sleep, or pretending to?'

'Yes, we saw them,' admitted Mr. Podmore. 'But'—with a deferential
little cough—'were they actually there, in what is usually termed the
flesh? Perhaps you are not interested in the investigation of
spiritualistic manifestations, Lady Rumborough?'

'No, I'm not,' replied her ladyship frankly.

'Are you suggesting, Mr. Podmore,' inquired Mr. Jubberley, in majestic
reproof, 'that our experiences last night can only be attributed to the
activities of some supernatural agency?'

'Much has been revealed to earnest investigators within recent years,'
replied Podmore, in a voice of respectful awe. 'A devoted succession of
psychic pioneers—Crookes, Myers,[Pg 263] Lodge, Doyle, and many others—have
demonstrated by patient research and sane investigation that we are more
closely in touch with other worlds than most people imagine. And we are
getting closer!'

There was another silence. Evidently Mr. Podmore, to employ a convenient
American idiom, had started something.

'You mean,' observed Jubberley presently, with the air of one throwing
off a happy impromptu, 'that there are more things in heaven and earth
than are dreamed of in one's—er—philosophy?'

'Precisely,' replied Podmore, warming to his work. 'Consider our
environment last night. A semi-tropical atmosphere; a cave probably once
employed as a place of worship, in close proximity to the ruins of one
of the greatest cities of antiquity, the very centre of a long-forgotten
civilisation. In other words, a psychic area likely to be frequented by
thousands of—what shall we say?'

'Willy-Wallies?' suggested Lila helpfully.

'I should prefer,' remarked Mr. Podmore, in a slightly pained voice, 'to
describe them as Entities, or Induced Phenomena.'

As no one raised any objection to this audacious flight, Mr. Podmore
continued:

'Consider the special circumstances. Our friend Colonel Miles was
undoubtedly rendered mediumistic by his physical condition, aggravated
by a touch of the sun and the fact that he had recently participated
in—shall we say?—a bout of fisticuffs. He was thus rendered acutely
sensitive to the occult influences about him; and in my belief he
communicated his abnormal condition, by some form of unconscious
hypnotic suggestion, to Mrs. Hatton, with whom he is undoubtedly in the
closest psychic sympathy.'

'Mind your own business!' I murmured.

Podmore ploughed on, to a now deeply interested audience.

'Thus the presence, not merely of one highly receptive medium, but
of two, in this densely populated spiritualistic atmosphere—an
atmosphere, moreover, obviously hostile to and resentful of our
presence—precipitated the inevitable Poltergeist.'

'Inevitable what?' asked several people's voices at once.

'Poltergeist,' explained Podmore, 'is a German expression, and may be
rendered "Rackety Spirit."'

'Instances of the occurrence of these phenomena,' continued Podmore, who
had now settled down to his regular platform voice, 'are numerous
throughout spiritualistic history. There was the case of the Wesley
family, in the year——'

'But what happens at a Poltergeist, or whatever you call it?' interposed
Lila. 'What does a Poltergeist do?'

'Roughly speaking,' replied Podmore, 'a Poltergeist is a spiritualistic
demonstration of hostility to the intrusion of an unwelcome person or
persons into a particular locality or habitation. The protests of the
Entities take visible form. Furniture becomes animated; unseen hands
employ domestic objects as missiles. The same conditions apply to a cave
as to an ordinary dwelling, in some cases to an intensified extent. A
few years ago, in the south of England, a householder attempted to
construct in his garden a dug-out, as a shelter against air raids. For
this purpose he decided to enlarge an already existing cavity in the
side of a hill, which had obviously been employed at some previous time
as a human habitation. His efforts were attended by most violent
spiritualistic opposition. Portions of rock fell from the roof, and upon
two occasions, as he[Pg 266] approached the mouth of the cavity, stones were
actually thrown at him from within.'

'I see,' said Jimmy. 'And that crowd we saw last night objected to us
using their cave?'

'Precisely. And they signified their disapproval and resentment by the
customary psychic manifestations.'

'I should jolly well think they did!' remarked Bumpstead, with feeling.
Obviously, he was thinking of his share in the game of Honeypots.

'But,' continued Podmore, in a voice trembling with humble exultation,
'last night's manifestations were such as mortal investigators have
never yet been privileged to witness! My friends, my colleagues—if I
may call you my colleagues—we have penetrated together to a point
further than any yet reached. In our Poltergeist we not only evoked the
usual symptoms of hostility to our presence, but we materialised the
actual agents concerned—their very forms and faces. It was a triumph!
If only I had had my camera! A psychograph of that manifestation—what a
stir it would have made in the psychic world!'

There was a very long silence this time. Then Lady Rumborough rose to
her feet.

'Well,' she said, 'I'm going to put the whole[Pg 267] business out of my head.
Whatever it was, it's over, and I'm glad; and we'll do ourselves no good
by remembering it.'

'You're right, Mum,' said Jimmy, 'dead right!'

'I entirely concur,' said Jubberley. 'These matters are best left in
the—er—dim underworld in which they—er—live, and move, and have
their——'

But Podmore declined to acknowledge defeat.

'I see your difficulty,' he said. 'You cannot credit the evidence of
your own senses, much though you would like to. Natural enough! Similar
instances have occurred. In the Wesley case, the entire manifestation
was described by an unconvinced commentator as "a contagious epidemic
hallucination of witnesses." That is what has happened to you. But we
must have faith; we must have vision; we must have——'

It was left to Lady Rumborough to convey to our psychic enthusiast the
general sense of the meeting.

'Mr. Podmore,' she said, in tones of relentless finality, 'we have all
been suffering from a sort of—sort of—bad dream, among ourselves——'

'A species of co-operative nightmare,' confirmed Sir James.

'—and we mean to forget it—especially[Pg 268] when we meet Leslie Miles! Tea
at four-thirty, everybody!'

But for my part, I felt grateful to Mr. Podmore. In deep waters, one
rather likes to have something to hold on to.

Pygmies and Pyramids

I

At tea-time I made my re-entrance into society. The company's agreement
to regard last night's manifestations as though they had never been was
faithfully observed; but it was a constrained meal, and I soon
discovered that there is no appreciable difference between being
regarded as one mentally afflicted and as one recently cured of mental
affliction.

As I had anticipated, my valorous mood of yesterday had entirely
evaporated. I was suffering badly from reaction: a child could have
bullied me to death. But no one present attempted to do anything of the
kind: evidently the memory of my recent disciplinary measures had not
entirely faded from the minds of my pupils. Sir James and his lady were
strangely unautocratic: for the time being I appeared to have made the
yacht safe for Democracy. Bumpstead was positively unobtrusive: that he
had ever given imitations of Biff Burbidge seemed incredible: Jubberley[Pg 270]
was deferential and ill at ease: I distinctly saw him half hold up his
hand, like a schoolboy, and then jerk it down again, before asking some
one to pass the sugar. Arabella was spotlessly clean, and less bronchial
than formerly. Gwen was nowhere to be seen, which puzzled me a little.
Mrs. Dunham-Massey smiled upon me, sweetly but ominously: it was clear
even to my comprehension that, like the Bourbons after the French
Revolution, she had learned nothing and forgotten nothing, and was
merely keeping her powder dry. As for Mr. Podmore, he gazed continuously
upon me with the tender and reverent affection of a humble entomologist
who has been privileged to capture an insect of incredible rarity and
present it to his local museum. Only Jimmy and Lila, furtively holding
hands behind the cake-stand and sharing one cigarette, appeared entirely
oblivious to my presence—or to that of any one else, for that matter.

Barbara was not visible; but shortly after tea she sent me a message by
Lila to say that she would like to see me in her cabin.

'She is just the least bit whacked by recent events,' murmured my small
companion, as she led the way below. 'Be nice to her.'

'You weren't absent—not by a long chalk! However, you shall hear.' And
I told Barbara the whole story, down to the moment of her own dramatic
and timely appearance.

'Then she really did occupy my body?' said Barbara, with wondering eyes.

'Most certainly. It was you, all right, that I spent the afternoon with.
And it was you who took the chair at the cabaret show. By the way, what
roused you in the end?'

'The noise that Lila was making. I woke up, and hurried out of my little
cell into the passage, and asked her what was happening. She said you
wanted me, so I came.'

'You must have brushed past Dido on the way,' I remarked thoughtfully,
'or what was left of her!... Heigho! it's an "unco" business, as Rorison
would say. Let's forget it.'

'I mean to,' said Barbara sincerely, 'from now on. By the way, how are
you feeling this afternoon, Leslie dear?'

'I? I am feeling ashamed—ashamed and disillusioned.'

'Meaning——?'

'I have just realised the utter futility of trying to pay off old scores
by making other[Pg 273] people uncomfortable. Proverbs are always wrong: the
very last way to defeat your adversary is to fight him with his own
weapons. Would one fight a skunk, or a Camembert cheese, with its own
weapons? I think not! Win or lose, a man must fight his battles with
such equipment as God has given him; and I'm vain enough to believe that
the equipment of a skunk is not one of my attributes. Yet what did I do
yesterday? I was given a chance to show myself a bigger man than
Rumborough, or Jubberley, or Podmore, or Bumpstead; and all I
accomplished was to show myself a more pettifogging tyrant than
Rumborough, a greater bore than Jubberley, a worse nuisance than
Podmore, and a more resilient bounder than Bumpstead.'

Barbara slipped her hand into mine. 'Go on talking,' she said: 'it's
doing us both good.' Gratefully accepting this generous view of the
case, I ploughed on.

'And on the other hand, it hasn't done them a particle of good either.
Listen!'

We listened. Beneath the awning over the after-deck we could hear the
bridge quartette tuning up for its evening entertainment. First a
stately recitative from Jubberley.

'Before we proceed to the next hand, may I[Pg 274] animadvert, Bumpstead, in
all friendliness, upon your omission to return my very palpable call
last time? I led the King of Spades, in order to indicate to you that I
was in possession——'

'Oh, hire a hall, Jubberley, old man! Nobody knows what any of your
leads mean. What did you go and do the time before the last? Put up Old
Mossy Face, and got him slain by The Bullet right off; after which you
went to bed with the nine of——'

'All right: you needn't shout. Let me see, there's a convention about
that, isn't there? If I make two diamonds, that'll mean that I want my
partner to double no trumps, won't it? Or is it the other way about? As
a matter of fact——'

'Tempus is fugeing! Declare something, or pass!'

'George, don't try to be funny. Well, Margot, since you seem to want
them, I shall go two diamonds; but I warn you I've only got——'

'Mrs. Massey, for the love of Mike declare something, and put Jubberley
out of his pain! Two no trumps? That'll do the trick, I expect. Lead
away, Jubberley, old sport! Lay out your dead, your ladyship!' And so
on.

'You see,' I said to Barbara, 'they're right back where they were
yesterday morning. "No Change," as they say in the election results.
Pygmies are Pygmies still, though perched on Alps.'

'Never mind,' replied Barbara. 'Natures never do change, really: that's
why you will always be nice, whatever happens. But when I asked you just
now how you felt, I meant, how does it feel to have been a king?'

'I never was quite a king,' I said modestly. 'I was just Dido's consort
for the time being—a sort of demi-royalty.'

'Yes, what about?' echoed Jimmy, his head appearing behind Lila's
shoulder. I noted that his whiskers had disappeared already.

'I want to apologise to you,' I said. 'I had meant to start with
Jubberley; but you're on the list too, so I may as well take you first.
Lila, I apologise! Jimmy, I apologise! No, I'm not quite sure about you,
James. What about this bump on my head, my lad?'

'I can apologise too, and then we'll be all square,' suggested Jimmy.

'What exactly are you apologising for, Leslie?' inquired Lila, who by
this time had joined her sister in her hempen nest.

'That's for fishing me out of the chain-gang last night,' she said. 'I
may as well forgive you, because Gwen never will! Now, Jimmy, let's
skedaddle: the old folks have much to engross them.' She slid down the
iron ladder, like a sylph down a cobweb, followed by the adoring James,
and we were left alone again.

II

Barbara and I sat very silent for a while, and, I think, very contented.
The sun was setting, and most of our shipmates had gone to their cabins.
Somewhere below a bugle sounded—the dressing bugle, probably. The
discordant strains of the bridge four had died away.

'Jimmy's all right,' said Barbara, suddenly and decisively, as if
answering a question which she had been debating within herself.

'Yes, I think he is,' I agreed. 'In fact, the whole rising generation is
all right—if old fogies like me would only admit it. I think the War
has prematurely aged those of us who are between thirty and forty. I
must say I loathed Jimmy when first I met him; but he seems to me
different now—more human. And Lila's altered too.'

'I see,' I said. 'I wonder if they have been in love with one another
for long?'

'For quite a while, I expect, only neither of them realised it. That's
the way it usually goes.'

'It's an odd thing, realisation,' I mused. 'Barbara, have you ever read
Jules Verne's story, about the shipwrecked men on the raft?'

'Not that I remember.'

'It's an old favourite of mine, and seems in its way to symbolise half
the tragedy—and half the hope—of life. These men had been adrift for
days, out of sight of land, trying to shape a course under a tropical
sun, with nothing to help them but a rag of canvas, and a steering-oar,
and their own will to hold on. Their provisions were gone, their water
was gone, and they were dying one by one of hunger and thirst—mainly
thirst, of course. At last, on the morning of the third day without
water, one of them (the man at the steering-oar, I think he was)
suddenly reached the limit of his endurance. He picked up a pannikin,
dipped it into the sea, and drank it right off. Barbara, that water was
fresh! Brackish, of course, but fresh and drinkable! Without knowing it,
they had arrived opposite the mouth of the Amazon; and though the coast
of South[Pg 280] America was still far below the horizon, the outward thrust of
the river—the greatest river in the world—was sufficient, even at that
distance, to sweeten the water of the ocean itself! What a moment! Can't
you see those poor, gasping, incredulous fellows throwing themselves on
their faces and lapping up fresh water out of the Atlantic? I was ten
years old when first I read that story, but I fairly cried with the
thrill of it. It brings tears to my eyes still.... You see the
application of the story?'

'You mean, we are never sufficiently conscious of our own "mercies," as
they say in Scotland?'

'That's the general idea; but there is a particular application.'

'Jimmy and Lila?'

'No; you and I. I am the man with the pannikin, and you are the river.
When I came on board this ship I felt exactly like our friends on the
raft—water everywhere, and not a drop to drink, as it were. People
everywhere, and not a soul to speak to, or cotton on to, or confide in,
or care for. Then at Naples you came on board, and the deep waters all
around me turned sweet and clean and refreshing. Not that I realised the
fact all at once: fool that I was, I went for days without know[Pg 281]ing what
had happened. I know now, though!'

Barbara lifted her eyes to mine, and kept them there for an appreciable
moment.

'What told you?' she asked gently.

'Something that happened yesterday. After I had made that awful and
useless exhibition of myself in the cave during luncheon, and after, I
went for a ramble along the beach, to cool off and clear my thoughts.
And as I walked, I suddenly realised that all these impossible people,
whom I hated so much and feared so much, were nothing in my life at all,
any longer. They could fuss and wrangle, sing and dance, peep and pry,
hector and bully to their hearts' content, and it would all mean nothing
to me—nothing in the world. And why? Because I had just come within
range of you, my dear! If ever again I felt discouraged, or helpless, or
down and out, I knew now that all I had to do was to dip my battered old
pannikin into the sweet waters of your presence, and drink my fill.
That's all!'

Old Scores

I

Dinner was an entirely ordinary function: the constraint of tea-time had
vanished. With all modesty, I must claim no small share in the credit
for this. For the first time since I came on board the yacht I felt at
peace with all men. I did not fear Lady Rumborough; I did not flinch
from Jubberley; I did not even feel a desire to rise up and kick George
Bumpstead in the base of the spine. I endured Podmore cheerfully, and my
host with equanimity.

Gwen was present, for the first time that day, and I found myself gazing
upon her with that compassion which is akin to affection. Poor Gwen! how
faithfully Dido had summed her up the previous evening! For that matter,
Dido had summed every one up with extraordinary terseness and truth. I
felt almost sorry that reporters had not been present—or at least some
amateur recorder of the utterances of eminent persons. Dido's strictures
upon our yacht party would have added spice to any volume of
reminiscences.

The company soon reacted to my obvious normality, and all present,
having realised that the question of binding me with cords had now
receded beyond the pale of practical necessity, settled down contentedly
enough to their accustomed enjoyment of life—gorging, gossiping,
boasting, fussing, soliloquising, or making eyes. I sat between Mrs.
Dunham-Massey and Arabella Hockley. Barbara I had resigned to my host;
but I had an appointment with her behind the steam steering-gear at
moonrise. For the time being I was at liberty to devote myself to the
duties of social intercourse.

Arabella attracted my attention first. She was wearing an absolutely
clean white frock—a notable incident in itself—and the effects of the
thorough grooming which she had received yesterday were still apparent.
Her hair rippled and shone: plainly the efficient artist to whose hands
I had committed her had administered to her coiffure some kind of
prehistoric permanent wave. There, I fear, the improvement ended. She
still snored over her food and interrupted conversation in order to hurl
hoarse pleasantries across the table. I began to realise the truth of
Barbara's dictum upon the immutability of human character. Beyond a
certain nascent concern for her own personal appear[Pg 284]ance, Arabella
Hockley's recent schooling had borne no fruit at all. She remained what
she had been—a female hobbledehoy, with defective tonsils and an
untimely sense of humour.

Barbara's theories, I soon found, also held good in the case of Mrs.
Dunham-Massey. Half-way through dinner that disciple of Truth got to
work upon me, with characteristic thoroughness.

'We mustn't discuss forbidden topics,' she purred; 'but how you and dear
Barbara must have enjoyed yourselves yesterday! And what a lot of
rehearsals you must have had!'

'Yesterday?' I replied vaguely. 'I was suffering from a touch of the sun
yesterday; so my recollections are rather——'

'And was Barbara suffering too, poor darling?'

'I'm afraid I'm not in Mrs. Hatton's confidence.'

'Oh, I thought you were. You sat together up on the top of the
chart-house quite a long time this afternoon, didn't you?' Having
delivered this side-thrust, Mrs. Massey reverted to frontal attack. 'But
do you really mean to tell me that you have no recollection of anything
that happened yesterday?'

'That is exactly what I do mean to tell you,' I replied, with perfect
truth.

'What a pity! You missed a good deal. Barbara was dreadfully candid in
some of the things she said about people. It would have been cruel to
laugh, but her criticisms were really too divine. She summed up each one
of us in turn, to our faces.'

I could not resist asking an innocent question here.

'Oh, me? She was very lenient to poor little me—perfectly sweet, in
fact. But some of the others! I'm afraid they'll never forgive her: I
don't quite see how they can. I wonder if Barbara has any recollection
of what she said.'

'I know she hasn't,' I replied, again with perfect truth.

Mrs. Dunham-Massey turned and surveyed me with grave interest.

'That's odd,' she remarked.

'What's odd?'

'You told me just now that you weren't in Mrs. Hatton's
confidence—didn't you? Of course, you forgot. It's so difficult to
remember everything one says—isn't it?'

Two days ago pinpricks of this kind would have rendered me frantic. But
I had obtained a suit of armour since then.

'I don't remember everything I say,' I[Pg 286] rejoined blandly; 'but I usually
remember everything I hear. And that brings something back to
me—something from last night. I seem to recall a voice. It might have
been Mrs. Hatton's, except that it was far too loud and commanding.
Anyhow, this voice was describing some other woman—pretty succinctly, I
thought.'

'Oh! Who was the woman?'

'I have no idea: all I heard was her description. She had a painted
face, and false hair, and only employed the truth when it was unsavoury
or painful to others. Did you notice any one like that among those
present?'

Mrs. Dunham-Massey turned half round in her chair and eyed me intently.
I met her gaze with a vapid smile. Her nostrils were twitching slightly.

'Is that all you remember?'

'All at present. But I shall never forget it.'

Then, oh joy! she lost her temper.

'You'll be sorry for this!' she said, in a low, venomous voice.

'Not if I am careful,' I replied reassuringly. 'I've got a good
constitution; and after all, what's a touch of the sun?'

Then, turning away, I caught Barbara's eye across the table. I picked up
my glass, made a[Pg 287] motion as of dipping it into something, and drank.
Barbara took my meaning, and smiled gravely back at me. I heaved a
little sigh of sheer content: I was proof against all the Dunham-Masseys
of this world for all time now, and the estimable lady at my side knew
it. I turned to her again.

'I'll let you know if I remember anything more,' I promised her; and
only the general uprising of the company saved me, I firmly believe,
from common assault.

II

Having arrived on deck, I looked at my watch. Barbara and I could hardly
steal away as yet—that was clear. Very well, then: I would devote the
intervening hour to making myself agreeable to my companions. I would
even cut in at bridge, if invited. One should always be ready to
brighten the lives of those less fortunately situated.

But first I looked round for Barbara: I wanted to confirm my appointment
with her. She was sitting with her back to me, talking to Mrs.
Dunham-Massey. I decided to wait.

'Will you cub and help be to tie fish-hooks?' asked a voice at my side.
'We're going to[Pg 288] anchor subwhere to-borrow dight, and I want to lay a
dight-lide.'

I must say this for Arabella: she does not nurse grievances. I had
handled her drastically enough not twenty-four hours ago, and here she
was conferring upon me the highest honour that it was in her power to
bestow. I began dimly to suspect that Arabella might be a Giver.

'All right,' I said heartily. 'Just a moment, though.' Barbara had
abandoned Mrs. Dunham-Massey, and was on her way to entertain Podmore,
who was sitting a little forlornly by himself. (Morris-dances were low
in the market these days.) I crossed the deck and intercepted her. The
gramophone was making its usual din—not the portable monstrosity which
I had destroyed on the beach, of course, but a massive instrument
indigenous to the quarter-deck—and I had to raise my voice a little.

'Ten o'clock,' I said, 'behind the wheel-house?'

Barbara smiled, and gave me a little nod.

'Not quite so loud though, dear!' she murmured.

It was only then that I realised that some one had stopped the
gramophone. It was Mrs. Dunham-Massey.

III

The ship's bell under the bridge chimed, four times: the new night-line
had been equipped with hooks and coiled away, and I was free to proceed
to more congenial business. I rose to my feet and stretched myself.

'Good night, Arabella,' I said; 'and thank you for letting me help.'

'That's all right. Good dight, by dear!' replied Arabella, with sudden
abandon; and passes from this narrative.

I looked round the deck. The bridge four were still engrossed in their
game: Mrs. Dunham-Massey and Sir James were conversing under the awning.
Jimmy and Lila, I knew well, were by this time on the top of the
chart-house. Barbara, as I had hoped, was nowhere to be seen.

I strolled towards the stern. As I passed Mrs. Dunham-Massey she
favoured me with what I can only describe as a leery look....

Abaft the awning, screening the stern-rail and the ensign-staff, stood
the little deck-house which contained the emergency wheel and the steam
steering-gear, the latter clacking and whirring soothingly enough in
response to the movements of the wheel up on the bridge. The[Pg 290] night was
calm and warm: a full moon was swinging up into a purple sky, softly
illuminating the bubbling, whispering wake of the yacht.

With my heart beating gently, I strolled round to the rear of the
wheel-house. A vision in crêpe-de-chine was leaning over the
stern-rail, communing apparently with the moon. At the sound of my
footsteps it turned quickly, and I found myself looking into the lovely
but foolish face of Gwen Gowlland. Her eyes were dilated, and her hands
were clasped together in suppressed agitation.

'Leslie!' she murmured: 'you've come?'

'It looks like it,' I said. 'Were you expecting me?'

'Yes. Margot Massey said she would send you.'

'Oh, did she?' Margot Massey and I were all square again, it seemed.
Still, I was not unduly discomfited: in fact, I felt just a little
grateful to the lady in question. Gwen had been on my conscience for
some time; and I realised that sooner or later, if I was to obtain my
formal release from the entirely imaginary ties which bound me to her
service, there would have to be an interview and an 'explanation.' Of
course, Gwen was entitled to neither; but that would not deter her from
expecting both.[Pg 291] The opportunity had now occurred, and it was for me to
make the most of it. I took a good look at Gwen, then metaphorically
dipped my pannikin into the Atlantic and took a deep draught of Barbara.

I became aware that Gwen was addressing me, with more than usual
intensity.

'Leslie dear, I must speak to you. First of all, you mustn't believe a
word Arabella says!'

'Arabella strikes me as a boring but singularly reliable raconteuse,'
I replied. I had just listened for an hour while the damsel in question
regaled me, item by item, with a faithful and remorseless inventory of
the contents of the stomach of a giant pike, whose capture, death, and
subsequent evisceration she had once been privileged to witness in her
extreme youth. But my words appeared to increase rather than allay
Gwen's distress.

'She's a horrible little scandalmonger,' she said, 'and you mustn't
believe a word of it.'

'Do you know, Leslie,' she said, 'I think you're rather splendid when
you bully people. Yesterday showed me a new side to your character. Of
course, I can never forget the things you said to me, because that was
sheer brutality——'

She paused: apparently an answer of some kind was due here.

'Sheer brutality!' she repeated.

'I think on the whole you deserved it,' I replied thoughtfully.

Gwen gave a heartrending wail.

'Then—you do believe what Arabella told you?'

I was filled with a not unnatural craving to know what Arabella had told
me.

'You mean, about——?' I hazarded.

'Yes—about George!'

'Aha!' I said to myself; and added aloud, with very creditable
hollowness of utterance:

'I take off my hat to the other man,' I said, 'that's all! He has
succeeded in doing a thing that I have never succeeded in doing in all
the years of our acquaintance. Stout fellow, George! But then, of
course, George is a Taker.'

'I don't know what you 're talking about,' lamented Gwen, declining at
any price to emerge from the bath of steamy sentiment in which she was
wallowing. 'Don't you realise the tragedy of it all? I've seen it
threatening for weeks; but you were so unconscious. So was George——'

'Oh, old George was unconscious too, was he?'

'And I had to bear the burden alone. It has kept me awake at night——'

'It's a terrible business,' I agreed, 'lying awake at night—especially
when every one else is unconscious.'

Gwen, whose sense of humour is not all that it might be, was quite
overcome by this.

'Thank you, Leslie dear, thank you! I knew you'd understand the tragic
dilemma which faced me. I was loved by two good men, and I seemed fated
to have to wreck the[Pg 295] life of one of them. Of course, I had known for
some time that George worshipped me, almost as much as you do.... Almost
as much as you do, Leslie!' she repeated, a little louder.

I glanced furtively at my wrist-watch. It was ten minutes past ten, and,
after all, there are limits.

'So, when he kissed me on the bridge——'

'You decided to break the news to me, at all costs?'

Gwen snatched her handkerchief from her eyes.

'Break the news! Didn't you know?'

'No. How should I?'

'Didn't Arabella tell you?'

'Arabella? Good heavens, no! Why?'

'But—she saw us! She was peeping, as usual. And when she sat beside you
to-night, talking for an hour—oh, Leslie!' Gwen's emotion was genuine
at last: she was really crying now, with sheer mortification. I handed
her my handkerchief.

'Carry on with this,' I said. 'I have found a way out, Gwen. It is the
Only Way. I'll be back in a minute.' And I took my departure as
impressively as possible.

My first action was to hurry down to the door of Barbara's cabin. I
tapped: she looked out.

'Well, you soon will be. Take her on the bridge, and give her
another kiss or two. Three kisses, on an average, establish an
engagement—especially when delivered in the presence of witnesses.'

'Witnesses?'

'Yes. Your first salute was duly witnessed; and if I know anything of
that alluring child Arabella Hockley, the next two will be witnessed
also.' I grasped our disgruntled explorer and humorist by the elbow, and
impelled him towards the stern. 'Gwen's waiting for you—waiting for
you, you lucky fellow! I want to see your meeting, if I may. In fact,
I will take you to her myself. No, by Jove, here she is coming to you!'

Gwen stood before us—beautiful, spirituelle, exuding treacle from her
very finger-tips.

'George! Leslie!' she murmured, and extended a hand to each of us. 'My
two loyal, faithful caval——!'

'Take her below!' I said to George: 'the forward lounge is a good place.
Good night, and God bless you! As for me, I must be alone.'

The Ring

Once more I found myself under the lee of the wheel-house—this time in
the proper company.

'You're sure I did right in foisting Gwen and George Bumpstead upon one
another?' I asked Barbara.

'You did no wrong, anyhow.'

'In short, Takers ought to marry Takers?'

'Heaven forbid that they should marry any one else! George and Gwen will
be about as happy as they are capable of being; and their life will be
one long, spirited battle to get the better of one another.'

'But in that case, one of them is bound to lose.'

'No,' said Barbara, with her engaging little air of serious wisdom;
'they'll both win.'

'But, Barbara,' I said earnestly, 'a battle is one of the few things
that I have been in; and I assure you it's a tactical impossibility for
both sides to win.'

'Not in a connubial battle. You see, George will bluster and boast and
plume himself upon[Pg 299] being master in his own house; and Gwen will melt
and yield and sacrifice herself, as usual; but she'll have George
wrapped comfortably round her little finger in no time. He won't know
it, but he'll be there. So they'll both win.'

'But will they be happy?' I asked dubiously.

'They'll think they are, which is the next best fate for people like
them. They'll never have the big things, of course—the things the
Givers get out of life—but they won't know that, poor things; they
won't know!'

'Barbara,' I asked, almost timidly, 'which am I?'

Barbara laughed outright.

'You? You're the most whole-hearted, unsophisticated old Giver in all
the wide world!'

'I am not unsophisticated,' I said, rather warmly. (There are two things
that a self-respecting person absolutely declines to be called: one is
unsophisticated, and the other is sophisticated.)

'Oh yes, you are,' said Barbara. 'You haven't the slightest idea which
side your bread is buttered on: you miss chances right and left. You
have always been full of shy schemes for doing good turns to people and[Pg 300]
helping lame dogs over stiles; and half of them come to nothing because
you are afraid of offending people by forcing something on them which
they may not want. You have no belief in the value of the things you
give, Leslie, but you're a Giver all right!'

'I'm afraid you won't find much public support for that contention,' I
said, with a wry smile. 'To most people I am just a stiff, unsociable,
irritable——'

'Perhaps I'm different from other people where you are concerned,' said
Barbara. 'I've always studied you, I think—always!' She came a little
closer; then she looked up into my face again.

'What am I, Leslie?' she inquired.

'You are no Giver,' I replied.

'Oh, Leslie!'

'You are a Squanderer. You were a Squanderer when you were a little
girl. Your toys, your tears, your hugs, your sympathy—you used to give
them away with both hands—not always to deserving cases, either. You
were doing it when Fate separated us; and now, after an eternity of
years, when I find you again, you are doing it still! No Change! After
all you've gone through and put up with, No Change! Thank God, No
Change!'

Then we smiled upon one another—widely and mistily. Presently Barbara
continued, half to herself:

'After all, giving is the only thing, isn't it? One gets taken in, and
deceived, and laughed at, over and over and over again; but it's worth
it, when all's said, even when you—give in the wrong quarter.'

'What makes you say that?' I asked. Then quickly: 'Don't tell me if
you'd rather not.'

'I don't think I should be telling you anything you didn't know,' said
Barbara. 'When I was nineteen I married a man; and I gave
him—everything. When a girl of nineteen gives a man everything, she
gives him an awful lot, Leslie.'

'And he took it all?' I said, through my set teeth.

'No. Some of the things that I offered were of no value to him, so—I
have them still.'

I put an arm round her.

'May I have them?' I asked.

She looked up at me.

'Taker!' she smiled.

Presently—it may have been three minutes, or three hours, later—we
rose and walked to[Pg 302] the stern, where we stood gazing out over the softly
whispering wake of the ship. I kissed my finger-tips to the horizon.

'While we are on that subject,' announced Barbara, 'I think it is time
we all said good night. Let me go now, Leslie dear: I'm growing
sleepy—so sleepy! It seems to have come on quite suddenly,' she added.

'Sleepy—suddenly? There's a familiar ring about that.'

With one accord we turned to one another, stricken by the same
paralysing thought.

'Leslie,' asked Barbara tremulously, 'she can't come back, can she?
Surely she can't reach us here! I mean to say, if every time I close an
eye she's going to—— She shan't have my body again!'

I reassured her. I was full of assurance to-night, not unnaturally.

'It's all right,' I said. 'The whole thing was only a dream—a
collective vision—an Induced Phenomenon, or whatever old Podmore said
it was. It never really happened, you know. What we both want is a sound
night's sleep. Come along, my dear: it's getting late. It must be
nearly[Pg 303]——'

I inserted my hand into my watch-pocket, and produced—Dido's ring.

Heavens above! I had clean forgotten the thing, from the moment when Her
Majesty had bestowed it upon me nearly forty-eight hours ago. It lay
upon my extended palm in the moonlight—solid, substantial, stunningly
conclusive. We both gazed at it, breathless and awestricken.

'She gave you that?' whispered Barbara at last.

I nodded.

'You're quite certain? You didn't just find it somewhere?'

'I distinctly remember her putting it into my hand.'

'What for?'

'As a bond of union between us. She said it would give her the power to
visit me whenever she liked.'

'O-o-oh! So that's what's letting her put me to sleep when she wants
to!'

'I suppose it is,' I said. Then I smiled, dismally. 'Old Podmore would
be interested in this, wouldn't he? It would create a real splash in
psychic circles.'

'Never mind Mr. Podmore!' said Barbara feverishly. She laid both hands
on my arm.[Pg 304] 'Leslie, what exactly did that woman say to you
about—that?' She laid an agitated finger on the ring.

'She said: "Guard it well. Should you lose it, I should recover it, but
I could never visit you more."'

'Then for mercy's sake throw it overboard!'

For a moment I hesitated. After all, respect for private property is the
keystone of the Conservative character.

'Will she be able to find it again, do you think? I shouldn't like to
deprive her of it—especially as she'll probably want it again, for her
next young——'

'She'll send a Phenomenon for it,' said Barbara hysterically. 'Throw it
away, dear—quickly!'

'All right!' I said.

I stepped to the rail, and flung the ring with all my might far over the
stern. It dropped into the moon-dappled wake of the yacht—- and I could
have sworn that a mermaid's hand rose out of the water to catch it as it
fell!

THE END

Books by Ian Hay

1907 PIP, A Romance of Youth

Two Hundred and Thirteenth Thousand

1908 THE RIGHT STUFF

Two Hundred and Third Thousand

1909 A MAN'S MAN

Two Hundred and Twentieth Thousand

1911 A SAFETY MATCH

Two Hundred and Twenty-First Thousand

1913 HAPPY-GO-LUCKY

Two Hundred and Ninth Thousand

1914 A KNIGHT ON WHEELS

Two Hundred and Sixty-First Thousand

THE LIGHTER SIDE OF SCHOOL LIFE

Forty-Fourth Thousand

1915 THE FIRST HUNDRED THOUSAND

Three Hundred and Ninety-Sixth Thousand

1917 CARRYING ON, AFTER THE FIRST HUNDRED THOUSAND

One Hundred and Fifty-Seventh Thousand

GETTING TOGETHER

Sixty-Second Thousand

1919 THE LAST MILLION

Thirty-Eighth Thousand

1921 THE WILLING HORSE

One Hundred and Twelfth Thousand

1923 THE LUCKY NUMBER

Sixty-Eighth Thousand

1924 THE SHALLOW END

Eleventh Thousand

1925 PAID WITH THANKS

Thirtieth Thousand

1926 HALF A SOVEREIGN

The New Book

PAID WITH THANKS

"There is one thing always certain about 'Ian Hay's' novels: one
will always meet with charming and wholly delightful people... its
main charm is in its characters. They are worthy additions to their
creator's already large gallery, and they will not fail to secure
the same affection as the others, for their adventures make a
splendid, clean story such as 'Ian Hay' alone can write."—Daily
Telegraph.

"The novel will be read with the greatest enjoyment by Ian Hay's
multitude of readers."—Sunday Times.

"It is a moving, gripping story, told with considerable art,
relieved by a good deal of the humour for which Ian Hay is so
justly famous."—Daily Graphic.

"The works of Major John Hay Beith, better known to lovers of
fiction as 'Ian Hay,' have now sold well over two million copies.
This remarkable popularity must be due, I think, to the fact that
the country with which he deals is that fortunate land lying just
between the confines of humour and pathos, lending itself to
slight excursions into one or the other as the writer thinks fit.
The novelist who can keep you on the borderline of tears and
laughter is assured of his thousands. And I need hardly say that
Major Beith is thoroughly healthy in his stories. No hidden
complexes about him. He is especially good, I always think, with
his modern young people."—Punch.

The LUCKY NUMBER

"Thirteen loses its direful significance when Mr. Ian Hay chooses
to make use of it. Not for the sake even of the most cherished
superstition would we have sacrificed one of the baker's dozen of
tales he tells us here. The task of elimination would have been so
difficult, for, master of the art of the short story as he has
already proved himself, it is doubtful if Mr. Hay has given such
uniformly good value before."—Daily Telegraph.

"'Scally,' an out-and-out mongrel, ridiculous, clumsy, but
thoroughly lovable, is a sort of a pivot for a story of
commonplace happenings which is illumined with the author's
characteristic humour, and has an undertone of pathos that is
sometimes not far from tears."—Sunday Times.

"It is difficult to say which of the thirteen is the best, for all
are excellent."—Daily Graphic.

"The stories represent in its most joyous form the delicate art of
tabloid fiction.... 'The Lucky Number' is one of the best
collections of short stories published for many a
day."—Scotsman.

"The humour in many of the stories is delightful, and proves a
rare entertainment... we have read and enjoyed them all."—T.P.'s
and Cassell's Weekly.

The WILLING HORSE

"Blending admirably with the drama and pathos of it all is that
rare vein of humour so characteristic of the author."—Daily
Telegraph.

"We are quite sure it will be read, and read with
pleasure."—Morning Post.

"Two things we look for in all Mr. Ian Hay's novels—a portrait
gallery of charming people, and a tale of true love very
delightfully unfolded. Here are both these characteristics...it
will take its place among the most faithful and most inspiring
vignettes of war-time England and its gallant spirit."—Yorkshire
Post.

"Fun and comedy there are in abundance... its real force lies in
its creation of atmosphere and its illumination of many sorts and
conditions of familiar human character.... The shirker and
profiteer are portrayed in all their meanness, and here Mr. Hay
gives his satirical gift full and bitter play. Many byways of
London life are playfully illumined. The description of the
personnel of a revue company at rehearsal, for example, is most
amusing, though even this has its pathetic touches. But the best
thing in the book is the scene in a Scottish village church one
Sunday morning at the most critical point of the war. The heart of
the person who can read this chapter without deep emotion is not
made of 'penetrable stuff.'"—Liverpool Post.

A KNIGHT ON WHEELS

"Three hundred pages... much incidental fun and a perpetual
cheerfulness."—Times.

"Mr. Hay's wholly delightful 'knight.'"—Daily Express.

"Mr. Ian Hay is a delightfully amusing writer, and he is as
amusing as ever in his new novel.... Not only each section but
each page of his story is an entertainment in itself."—Daily
Graphic.

"'A Knight on Wheels' is certainly fresh and bright and
entertaining... such bright writing relieves these stressful
days."—Clement K. Shorter in The Sphere.

"Here is a new broom for mental cobwebs; they will vanish before
its vigorous attack. Style is always the expression of
personality, and here a good story is enhanced by the manner in
which it is written, for Ian Hay is one of the most cheerful of
novelists."—Yorkshire Post.

"Mr. Ian Hay is the sunniest of romancers; a volcano of jollity...
from every phase of life touched he extracts the humour, clarifies
it, and bottles it in gleeful words."—Glasgow Herald.

The SHALLOW END

"Mr. Ian Hay's new book is sure to be a great popular success....
His observation of familiar objects is exact, and his memory
inexhaustible.... 'The Shallow End' is a veritable Pathe Gazette of
contemporary entertainment, and Mr. Lewis Baumer's prettily tinted
pictures are exactly in keeping with its spirit."—Daily
Telegraph.

"London has constant need of new recorders of her habits, tastes,
and manners, for these glide perceptibly into their successors
before we realise that the old order has given place to new. And
who could be better for this kind of social history than 'Ian Hay'
with his quick eye, tolerant humour, and talent for catching the
exact comedy shade of a situation? 'The Shallow End' is clever,
but its cleverness is doubly enjoyable because we realise that it
is true. Whether we are taken to the 'cabaret,' the boxing ring,
or the League football match, we recognise the genuine authentic
notes of the occasion."—Observer.

"These bright sketches of life in many places are little
gems."—John o' London's Weekly.

"A Book of Laughter.... And now for a really cheerful book. It is
curious how very few really cheerful books are now being written
and published. Perhaps, instead of 'cheerful' I mean really jolly
kind of stories—stories which make you laugh without disturbing
your thoughts in the slightest. Well, sometimes one becomes tired
of thinking, and then if one does not begin to laugh, the odds are
that one begins to feel bored. So let me recommend 'The Shallow
End' by Ian Hay, if you want to spend an entirely cheerful evening
alone with a book."—Tatler.

The LIGHTER SIDE OF SCHOOL LIFE

"Humour, common-sense, rare insight and knowledge of character, apt
illustration, and the happy incisive delineation are all to be
found in these charming pages... this medley of school impressions
is delightful. Its variety never fails. Its wisdom is as bright as
it is true."—Morning Post.

"It is crammed with admirable little vignettes of character study
and pepper-castored with good stories. One of the figures Mr. Hay
draws for us will find abiding places in the memories of his
readers."—Sunday Times.

HODDER & STOUGHTON

SOME NEW & FORTHCOMING NOVELS

The DANCING FLOOR

By JOHN BUCHAN, author of "John Macnab," "Greenmantle," etc.

Sir Edward Leithen, who played a leading rôle in "John Macnab,"
gained the confidence of a young Englishman, haunted all his life
by a dream, and of a girl, the heiress to a Greek island, whose
quixotic sense of honour made her face alone a great peril. The
inseverable connection between the destinies of the two, with the
high test to which the courage of each was put, makes a great love
story, a stirring, original adventure, and a fine study of modern
youth.

The PROPER PLACE

By O. DOUGLAS, author of "The Setons," "Pink Sugar," etc.

A story of the New Poor and the New Rich. Lady Jane Rutherford and
her daughter, who sold their beautiful home in the Borders, and Mr.
and Mrs. Jackson of Glasgow, who bought it, and struggled to live
up to it, are some of the living characters that O. Douglas knows
so well how to draw, and of whom she writes with such humour,
pathos, and philosophy.

HALF A SOVEREIGN

By IAN HAY, author of "A Knight on Wheels," etc.

Colonel Leslie Miles accepts the hospitality of Sir James
Rumborough, his lawyer, and finds himself, much against his will,
included in a yachting party of dull, cranky, and otherwise
uncompanionable people, for a cruise in the Mediterranean. During
the cruise, in which the sites of ancient cities are visited, he
finds himself reconstructing the old barbaric scenes as if he were
himself a living part of them. It is all very embarrassing for
Leslie, but it is when he gets in touch with Dido Queen of
Carthage, who for the occasion assumes the body of the youthful
widow, Mrs. Hatton, with whom he is in love, that his real troubles
begin.

LITTLE MRS. MANINGTON

By CECIL ROBERTS, author of "Scissors," "Sails of Sunset," etc.

Disaster was prophesied for the marriage of Richard Manington, a
young English politician, with an American heiress. But Manington
knew deep in his heart that he had not married for money, as Helen
knew she had not married for position. Yet both these adjuncts of
their love-match are there. The situation is subjected to Mr.
Roberts' searching powers of analysis; the scenes have all his
wizardry of description; while the dominating note is the
sympathetic treatment of the actions and motives of enchanting Mrs.
Manington.

"Mr. Allen" is the successful and absorbing result of the
collaboration of two most distinguished writers. The craftsmanship
with which the mysterious happenings at the moated grange in Essex
and the still more dramatic dénouement are presented, provides all
that could be asked by the enthusiast of the mystery story.

MR. RAMOSI

By VALENTINE WILLIAMS, author of "The Red Mass," "The Three of
Clubs," etc.

"It was inevitable that somebody well versed in Egyptology and
Arabic should make the Luxor excavations the raison d'être for a
thrilling mystery yarn. But it is the best that could have happened
that Mr. Valentine Williams should be first in the field. The
author of 'The Three of Clubs' has woven glamour and mystery around
the treasures of the tombs with masterly skill."

The CELESTIAL CITY

By BARONESS ORCZY, author of "The Scarlet Pimpernel," "I will
Repay," etc.

"It is impossible for this author to write a dull novel, and in
'The Celestial City' she keeps her readers as whole-heartedly
enthralled as ever." "Baroness Orczy never goes into orthodox roads
for her plots. They are always original paths, and in this stirring
tale she maintains the reader's interest to the last line." An
ex-princess involves herself and her friends in a lively set of
adventures in Bolshevik Russia. The heroine has a husband whom one
suspects of being a typical "Pimpernel" character, not nearly such
a fool as he looks.

The SQUARE EMERALD

By EDGAR WALLACE, author of "The Crimson Circle," etc.

The three sisters Druze, around whom Mr. Wallace's amazing new book
revolves, could not be described as living a quiet, normal life.
They formed themselves into a gang for the fulfilment of
multifarious activities not unconnected with forging, blackmail,
impersonations, and anything that led to money and excitement. How
the identity of these three enterprising women is established and
their questionable proceedings laid bare by a slip of a girl
detective forms an absorbing mystery story, bristling with the
unexpected from start to finish.

RACHEL

By BEATRICE HARRADEN, author of "Spring shall Plant," etc.

The "roving spirit" possessed Rachel, and she abandoned husband and
family. She left consternation and fear of a scandal behind her
among an array of relations, and Mrs. Harraden has some
good-tempered fun at their expense. Rachel's husband narrowly
escaped "designing" housekeepers; his Victorian sister was with
difficulty prevented from practising her good works on the home.
Meanwhile Rachel went her way, and her motives and justification
receive keen-sighted and sympathetic treatment.

YESTERDAY'S HARVEST

By MARGARET PEDLER, author of "To-morrow's Tangle," etc.

The consequences of an unpremeditated theft and a chivalrous
gesture belonging to the past cropped up again in the present. A
new name, it appeared, did not give a new lease of life.
Yesterday's harvest stood unreaped between Blair Maitland and
Elizabeth when Elizabeth's father knew his story and refused him
her hand in marriage. A tale of such romance, such dramatic
intensity, and withal such dignity that it will be second to none
among Mrs. Pedler's vibrant, enthralling books.

The UNDERSTANDING HEART

By PETER B. KYNE, author of "Cappy Ricks," etc.

A tale of the early mining days in the West. "The Understanding
Heart" tells of a man who braved persecution, and it records a
wonderful love story and a deathless friendship.

The STRANGE FAMILY

By E. H. LACON WATSON.

Here is a chronicle of rare charm. It has about it the
unsensational suggestion of authenticity. In quiet fashion it
relates the early years of the children of a country rector. It
gives an amusing picture of types and incidents in a village
community. It passes with Rudolf Strange to Cambridge, and becomes
an illuminating record of the University in the 'eighties. A
penetrating observation of character and period.

The VOICE OF DASHIN

By "GANPAT," author of "Harilek," etc.

A fresh, fascinating book of adventure and action, picturesquely
and vividly set in the Hinterlands of the Karakorum. In plot and in
scene this travelled author departs from the beaten track. His City
of Fairy Towers, fantastic though gruesome, the delightfully
colloquial relations of the two young British officers who find
their way thither, an unusual love interest (and all of it set off
with a capital sense of fun), these are some of the elements in an
up-to-date, adventurous romance of an unusual character.

WHAT IS TO BE

By J. C. SNAITH, author of "Thus Far," etc.

A romance of chivalrous adventure, moving surely towards its
foreordained conclusion. John Rede Chandos married Ysa, an exiled
young queen. Subsequent developments found him a Prince Consort in
a European State, feeling slightly ridiculous, and consistently,
though gallantly, out of his depth. He tells his own story, in a
self-deprecating, humorous manner, from the moment when he left his
lawyer's office until the last phase, on a mountain top, of "a
battle he was born to lose."

An engrossing study of the present-day Red Indian surrounded by
white civilisation. Mr. Zane Grey is a master of descriptive
literature, and paints life among the Indians, their relations with
the white man, and the cause and effect of their gradual
extinction, with realism and colour. He has faithfully mirrored the
glory as well as the tragedy of "the vanishing Indian." This is not
a book that one rushes through—the descriptive writing is so good
that one lingers over the beautiful pen pictures composed by a
master hand.

The BLACK HUNTER

By JAMES OLIVER CURWOOD, author of "The Flaming Forest," "A
Gentleman of Courage," etc.

The Black Hunter was a mysterious character of sinister and almost
supernatural repute around whom centred a tense drama in the French
and English struggle in Canada. His howl becomes a portent; his
figure lurks in the background of a narrative strong in contrasts.

DAVID WILDING

By RICHMAL CROMPTON, author of "The House," "The Wildings," etc.

Another friendly and humorous inquiry into the family life of the
Wildings, handled with a touch so deft that the Wildings will be
recognised in many a home. David's problem had become acute, with a
wife who flaunted the family tradition, and a baby at whose
christening and subsequent receptions all sorts of incompatible
Wildings had to meet. There are rebellions and declarations of
independence. But David's mother never lost her hold on the
situation.